Paris Nights
by madame.alexandra
Summary: London. Marseille. Paris. Positano. Somewhere in the mix, Jenny Shepard and Leroy Jethro Gibbs stopped being just partners. This is their story-continued. Sequel to: Probie Days.
1. London Calling

_A/N: As always, thanks to aserene. Here's the next installment; I hope we get off to a good start._

_*Note: I am an American. I know roughly the time difference between London and D.C. simply because I have a friend in Liverpool at the moment. I do research and try my best to get facts right and cultural differences right, but feel free to let me know if something's off. _

* * *

Special Agent Jennifer Shepard was watching her boss as he reached up to put her bag in the overhead compartment above their seats. Most would find the sight uninteresting; Jenny Shepard begged to differ. She happened to enjoy running her eyes over one Leroy Jethro Gibbs' abdomen and chest as he stretched, even if he was wearing clothes.

"What the hell is in this thing?" his demanding growl broke into her thoughts and she blushed slightly.

"Stuff," she responded mysteriously, as he slammed the compartment shut and gave her a look that clearly informed her he thought she was just another crazy woman who had too much stuff.

"You're the one who offered to help with my bags!"

"_This_ is what I get for being a gentleman,"

"HA!" Jenny snorted, raising both eyebrows at him.

He smirked at her, dropping into his seat and slouching down slightly, which was kind of surprisining, actually. Gibbs had incredible posture, probably from all those years of standing at attention.

"I let you have the window seat," he pointed out, sounding defensive.

"Only because I _hit_ you," she answered smugly.

He glared. Having been faced with this glare for six months now, she no longer found it even slightly disconcerting. She gave him an indulgent look, like she would an unruly child. She then pretended to lose interest in him completely and looked out the window, watching other civilians slowly board the plane and baggage be tracked to the cargo areas.

"Jethro," she said seriously, turning to him, "I left my book in my carry-on. Can you get it?"

He stared at her, his blue eyes narrowing darkly.

"I'm kidding," she soothed.

He rolled his eyes at her and turned his attention elsewhere, presumably to give everyone else on the plane a good 'I'm-scary-don't-mess-with-me' stare or something macho like that. Jenny laughed inwardly at the thought.

They were on a flight to London from Dulles International. It had barely been a week since Director Morrow had given them this assignment, and Jenny was still reeling from the fact that she'd been given this opportunity with her relatively little time at NCIS.

She was thrilled, yes; but the stress that came with it all had her a little on edge. Special Ops assignments like this provided many more ways to screw up but that was the least of her worries, in all honesty. The biggest issue was sitting right next to her.

Jenny glanced at Jethro casually, watching him watch everyone else. He was causing her all kinds of stress and internal struggle without even batting an eye.

He was just so damn _sexy_.

"_What_?"

Jenny blinked, startled by his question.

"What?" she asked in response to him. He gave her a funny look.

"Quit giving me that look," he ordered. She vaguely wondered what look had been on her face when he caught her staring, and decided she probably didn't want to know. From the tone of his voice, thought, she guessed it must have been annoyed or accusatory. That was a good thing.

"What are we going to do for seven hours?" she asked, leaning back in her chair and rolling her head towards him on the headrest.

"Sleep," Gibbs answered promptly.

"No!" Jenny protested, shaking her head and straightening to look at him. "You can't go to sleep you old man, I'll be bored out of my mind!"

"Not my problem," he answered unsympathetically.

Jenny glared at him. There was no way she was going to let him sleep peacefully while she sat restless and was slowly driven crazy by everyone else on the plane.

"I will sit in your lap the entire flight and keep you awake," she threatened bluntly.

He raised an eyebrow.

"Is that supposed to be a threat?" he queried sarcastically.

Jenny was impressed he played along. He usually just glared menacingly or muttered incoherently.

"Do you think I'm bluffing, Boss?" she asked lightly, tilting her head at him in amusement.

"I never know with you, Shepard," he muttered in response.

She gave him a calculating look, seriously considering getting in his lap just to freak him out. She could tell he didn't think she'd actually do it, and she didn't like being blown off.

While she was thinking about the potential benefits for her of throwing herself in his lap, the stewardess came over the intercom and started babbling about safety. The next thing she knew Gibbs had leaned across her and was pulling something across her lap, causing her to jump a mile, her eyes wide at the contact.

He looked up at her in surprise and she heard a click. Looking down to his hand, she figured out that it was her seatbelt he'd pulled across her lap and not just his hand.

"If you do that again, I'll make you eat your hand," she threatened darkly, her breath catching in her throat.

He pulled the offending hand back with a smirk and rested it on his knee, unfazed by the decidedly menacing look she fixed him with. The plane shuddered as its engines flew to life and the pilot came on, giving weather conditions and estimated arrival time.

At approximately seven London time they'd land, where they would stay for two nights before traveling to Marseille, France to relieve Decker and his new partner, both of whom had gone a few days before Jenny and Gibbs. Their assignment files were secured at the London outpost, their quarters in the city taken care of.

The plane took off with Jenny still running over the orders and strict guidelines for their operations in her mind, among other things, managing to stress herself out all over again. These days if she wasn't analyzing every way she could possibly screw up, she was picturing Gibbs naked.

That in and of itself posed a potential problem.

Jenny turned to Gibbs' slightly, questions on her lips even though she knew they would just annoy him. It took her a minute to realize his face was turned away because he'd actually been _serious_ about the sleeping.

They'd barely been in the air _five_ minutes.

Annoyed, not to mention jealous that he could sleep on a plane when they made her a little uneasy, she leaned over until she was right in his face and blew in his ear.

His shoulders twitched and he opened his eyes, scowling at her. She leaned back smugly and raised her eyebrow, making it clear she really had no intention of letting him sleep. Jethro straightened back up and ran a hand over his face, groaning in annoyance.

"Don't make me get in your lap," she warned playfully.

He glared simply out of habit.

"What if I get in yours?" he asked immaturely.

Jenny gave him an amused look, pretending to look thoughtful.

"I've never really _done_ it that way before…" she mused innocently.

He widened his blue eyes a bit at her little insinuation and then tried not to think about it too much.

She leaned across him swiftly and pushed the button on his seatbelt, brushing her hand over his leg as she pulled back and snapped the belt into its original place. Swallowing hard, he bristled, fixing her with a glare.

"What the hell?" he asked bluntly.

"Payback," she answered smugly, turning and facing forward with a wicked smile.

He felt curiously triumphant that she fell asleep five hours into the flight. Not to mention a little relieved. When she was awake he was constantly watching his back, trying to anticipate what stunt she was going to pull next. She'd already threatened him with her gun when he refused to get her some crackers—meaning she _actually_ inconspicuously pressed the barrel into his side.

He'd never admit it but he liked to watch her sleep. Then he could admire her uninterrupted or harassed by her sharp, knowing eyes. Considering she was currently using his shoulder as a pillow, her hair all over his neck and chest, he was more than happy she was asleep.

Now if only she'd start talking. _That_ would make his day. She vehemently denied sleep-talking, blushing lightly every time he goaded her about it, but she did it and he'd known about it since the stakeout when she'd randomly mumbled the rules in her slumber.

Relaxing back into the seat, he tilted his head back and closed his eyes, relishing the peace of not being poked or punching in the arm for trying to get some sleep.

The timing of this re-assignment was surreal. The nature of it was almost unbelievable. The simple fact that Morrow had decided to send Jenny and him to Europe, alone, to carry out undocumented Ops right after his divorce seemed…too good to be true, if you asked him.

It wasn't just _trouble_ they could get into.

If he could tell anything from the looks on both Pacci and Ducky's faces when they'd heard about the assignment, he wasn't the only one who foresaw a potentially cliché, potentially disastrous ending.

It wasn't that he was planning on seducing Jenny; but without the hindrance of adultery looming over him; it was a hell of a lot easier to forget sleeping with his partner was a bad idea. Really, did he honestly think he could just work with her and ignore the hair, the incredible legs and the wicked eyes? _Don't even get me started on that sultry voice of hers…_He must've been kidding himself.

Jethro reached up and ran a hand over his face, glaring slightly at himself behind his eyelids.

This really had to stop before he damaged their ability to work together.

"Coffee," Jenny muttered darkly, and Jethro smirked.

He decided to tell her she looked innocent when she slept just to piss her off.

She sighed and mumbled something unintelligible, then shifted her head, tilting it back and nestling into his shoulder. Her forehead pressed into his neck, her lips inches from her skin. He could feel her breath on his neck, and he froze, swallowing.

He realized in less than five seconds that he needed to get her off of him.

He did the first thing that came to mind without thinking about the consequences and squeezed her kneecap right at the nerve. She jolted awake with a squeal and blinked rapidly like she didn't know where she was.

"LEROY JETHRO GIBBS!" she snapped loudly, turning ferocious eyes on him.

A couple across the aisle from them leaned forward to look, eyes wide.

In retrospect, Jethro concluded the knee-squeezing hadn't been such a brilliant idea. He should have just yelled or pushed her off of him. He adamantly told himself he hadn't chosen that way to wake her up out of some irresistible urge to touch her leg.

"That was just _stupid_. You are a stupid man," she growled, narrowing her emerald eyes dangerously.

He opted for a careless smirk.

"I thought it was funny," he commented, shrugging slightly.

She grabbed his wrist and flipped it over, reading the time on his watch. Jenny dropped his hand on the armrest disdainfully and turned her narrow eyes on him, her glare showing him just how displeased she was.

He kept his mouth shut. He wasn't about to tell her he'd woken her up to prevent himself from dragging her into the back of the plane and having his way with her.

"For the next two hours," she said slowly and menacingly, pointing sharply to his watch, "your life is going to _suck_."

He didn't doubt her for a second.

* * *

"Got your passport?"

"No. I decided I didn't need it and chucked it off the plane."

Well. That scathing response answered the 'are you still made at me?' question he was considering asking.

Jenny gave him a dirty look, obviously still irked at him. It wasn't like she hadn't exacted revenge in every possible way. The damn woman hadn't been kidding when she'd vowed to make him miserable the rest of the flight. She'd told the stewardesses he was a recovering alcoholic, resulting in a ban on coffee and alcohol for him. She'd spent ten minutes digging her heel into his foot and then pretended she hadn't noticed. She'd loudly accused him of staring at a stewardess's ass, spilled a glass of lemonade on him and, to top it all off, asked him if he'd fixed his impotency problem and if not, would it help if she rented him some gay porn?

He'd never before considered hitting a woman. Until _then_.

They were hustled through customs quickly, and managed to escape from the metal detectors by flashing badges. Jenny still refused to look at him with anything but a hostile stare, even though he was pretty sure he'd recompensed her for the knee-squeeze by enduring her endless torture. He was currently carrying his carry-on and _both_ of hers.

"I'll get the luggage," he said, interrupting her death glare non-chalantly. "You call headquarters and check in, and it might be a good idea to get something to drink from…over there," he gestured when he found the appropriate concessions place and waited for a response.

She nodded and started to walk off, turning and calling back to him:

"You'll want a green tea with lemon?" she asked sweetly, turning away before he had time to answer.

Jethro groaned.

Jenny took pity on Jethro when she got to the concessions, ordering him a black coffee and herself lemonade to replace the one she'd dumped in his lap on the plane. She smirked while she leaned against the counter and waited, quite proud of herself for the torture she'd inflicted on him.

The gay porn comment had been her favorite. He'd actually turned _red_.

Jenny took their drinks and sat down at a table, watching him drag their luggage off of the conveyor belt and put it on one of the roll carts. She'd managed to keep her stuff to a minimum, two suitcases even though they were technically here for an undetermined amount of time. She planned on doing a massive amount of shopping in Europe to offset the lack of clothes and shoes she'd brought.

Pulling out her cell phone, she hit the speed dial button for Washington NCIS and checked in with the Director before she moved on to alerting the London outpost in order to make sure their Mission Briefs were waiting for them at the inn they were staying at.

Or she thought it was an inn of some sort. Jethro wouldn't tell her; he seemed to think she was going to get girly and complain or something.

The thought made her frown at him as he started to walk back, and sip her lemonade watchfully.

"You get a hold of anyone?" he asked, picking up his coffee cup and giving it a wary look.

"Our briefs will be waiting at our secret hideout, Mr. Bond," she responded in a low voice, grinning slightly.

He gave her a look.

"Jethro, please tell me you know who James Bond is."

"I do."

"You know you're not the kind of man who fares very well when you say '_I_ _do_","

Jethro glared at her and she just smiled around the rim of her glass, pleased with herself. When she noticed he was still avoiding his coffee, she gave him a break.

"It's your kinda coffee," she said, nodding to it. He looked like he didn't trust her as far as he could throw her but drank it anyway. He looked slightly happier with the coffee in his system.

Apparently deciding she was safe to be around at the moment, he pulled out the chair across from her and sat down, resting his arm over the back of the chair.

"We need to check as soon as possible. We have to…"

Jenny stopped listening to him as went on about procedure: sweeping the room, contacting Decker; she knew all that had to be done. All he was doing was drilling it into her because he was Gibbs and he did that. She had started to think too much about his mouth when suddenly something he said panicked her.

"We're _what_? I don't—we're," she paused, swallowing and fixing him with a glare. "We're sharing a room?" she managed to get out without stuttering.

He had the good sense to look perturbed.

"Why didn't you tell me that?" she demanded, meeting his eyes.

"I found out yesterday—I didn't think it was important," he answered slightly defensively, almost bewildered at her near hysterical reaction.

"You—JETHRO!" she yelled, giving him a look that said clearly she thought he was a moron. "If I'd known we were sharing a room I would have brought _PAJAMAS_!"

He blinked. He didn't see her meaning for a second and then it dawned on him. Exercising supreme power of control, he managed to not smirk at her. She looked mortified; he wanted badly to laugh, but at the same time his mouth had gone dry at the thought of her only an arm's length away all night with no pajamas to speak of…

"We're on assignment for an indefinite period. Why didn't you bring pajamas?" he asked calmly, aware that he was doing a terrible job of holding back the smirk.

"I _thought_ I had my own _room_!" she fumed, her glare heating up a bit. "Wipe that smile of your face you bastard!" she snapped, catching the look in his eye.

"So," he said slowly, pretending he was trying to put the pieces together, "you didn't bring _anything_ to sleep in." he paused. "What do you _usually_ sleep in, Jen?"

She scowled threateningly.

"I _did_ bring someth—I just," she stopped and seemed to think better of completing the sentence. "Nevermind." She muttered darkly.

She glared accusingly for a minute before leaning back and taking on an unconcerned look.

"Well," she sighed matter-of-factly, "I guess _you_ just get to sleep blindfolded."

Like that would solve the problem. He _did_ have an imagination.

She seemed to pretty much forgive him when she discovered the hotel they were staying at for the two nights before taking over in Marseille was rather high-end and well-to-do. She assumed that meant it afforded better privacy than a one room, cramped little inn.

Jenny was still a little miffed that the NCIS budget couldn't afford to get her her own damn room. Apparently Sensitivity to Women in the Workplace went out the window when it came to undocumented European missions. She concluded that she'd have to accuse Jethro of sexual harassment in order to convince the agency she needed her own room—even if in reality she wouldn't care if Jethro sexually harassed the hell out of her.

She did care, however, if Jethro slept in the same room with her and he was _not_ sexually harassing her. She'd have to stay awake all night, pretending to sleep, in order to avoid talking in her sleep the way he liked to tease her she did.

Jenny shivered at the things that could come out of her mouth while she was unconscious of it.

"You know," Jethro's slightly annoyed voice broke into her reverie, "when I was a junior agent, I was the one who did all the schlepping."

She turned and looked at him. He was leaning in the taxi and giving her a look, a few of their bags on the sidewalk next to him. She hadn't even realized the car had arrived at the hotel. Pushing him back gently and getting out of the car, she gave him a wide-eyed, mocking look.

"_You_ were a junior agent once? _You_, master? I always thought you just fell from heaven knowing _everything_…"

He snorted at her comment and she followed him around to the trunk, taking one of her bags from him and setting it on the pavement next to the rest of hers. When everything was out, Jenny slammed the trunk shut, giving a nod and a smile to the driver while Jethro paid him his due.

"Go get a cart thing," he told her as the cab drove off.

"You get one," she retorted.

"Mature," he mocked, rolling his eyes.

Jenny lifted and eyebrow and decided to go get the cart thing he'd requested. Being mean and antagonistic to him lost its charm after a while, and she was bored with it now. Besides, she had a feeling she needed to save the worst of her tongue for later.

Their room was on the third floor, and what Jethro had so eloquently dubbed the 'cart thing' made it possible for them to only take one trip. Jenny barely gave the room a good look as Jethro shut the door behind them before she yanked her smallest bag off of the cart, knocking everything else off.

She glanced at the late hour and decided crossing five time zones made her dirty.

"I'm going to shower," she informed Jethro, walking toward the bathroom without a second glance.

She could feel him watching her, and she liked it.

The hot water and cleanliness made her feel a lot less stress and a little more cooperative than she'd been feeling since Jethro immaturely pinched her awake on the flight. If she had known at that time that she'd spend the next two nights terrified of falling asleep lest she say something awkward in his presence, she would have gone back to sleep instead of torturing him the rest of the trip.

Jethro wasn't even there when she came out of the shower, scrunching the ends of her hair in a towel and dressed in the most casual attire she could find without shamelessly exposing wearing her silk nightie was out of the question. It was kind of annoying that he'd just leave without telling her his whereabouts, considering he was her partner and they were in a foreign country, but she wasn't surprised.

She left her hair alone and rummaged through her bag for a book, settling herself on the bed with her legs stretched out in front of her to read it. Jethro walked in within five minutes carrying a bag of food, for which Jenny realized she was grateful, considering she'd sort of forgotten to eat today.

Other than the crackers Jethro got her on the plane.

"Lo Mein and Kung Pow Chicken," he commented, glancing at her.

Jethro paused and looked at her for a moment, taking in the dark red wet hair, blue t-shirt and shorts that were…_short_.

"What are you reading?" he asked, to cover himself. He went back to unloading the food with rapt attention.

"101 Sex Positions," she answered, deadpan.

His eyes widened slightly and three seconds too late he realized she was messing with him. She burst out laughing, closing the book that was obviously _not_ about sex and setting it next to her.

"_God_, if I'd had a picture of that face," she giggled, changing positions and scooting closer to wear he was so she could get her food from him.

"Loosen up, Gibbs," she said, leaning back again and clicking chopsticks at him as she picked around in her chicken, eating all the peanuts out first.

"You're loose enough for the both of us," he muttered under his breath, and Jenny raised an eyebrow, feigning outrage.

"I believe you just called me _easy_, Agent Gibbs. I take offense to that."

"You are not easy, Jen. You're difficult," he responded cleverly.

"Maybe you should be nicer to me, Grumpy."

He gave her a withering look and leaned against the desk in the rather spacey suite, eating his own food with his characteristic brooding glare. She stuck her tongue out at him and smiled, eating her noodles contentedly.

At least she tried to make the conversation fun instead of sitting around in moody awkward silence. He was going to have to get used to her if he was going to spend two nights in this hotel room with her. She knew he had the ability to be a wise-ass, but she'd also seen him be teasing and playful and she'd prefer if he stopped pretending he was so above it all.

"I was reading Crime and Punishment," she offered.

"Raskolnikov did it," Jethro informed her.

She was glad she'd already read the book, then.

"I _know_—you've read it?" she changed directions mid sentence, tilting her head in interest.

"Surprised?" he asked with a snort.

"Er. No." she responded, even though she clearly was.

He shrugged, eating his soup.

"Friend recommended it," he said.

Jenny widened her eyes.

"You have friends?" she asked sweetly, her eyes smirking at him. "Did one of your wives make you read it?" Jenny asked with a snicker, imagining either Diane or the first woman with the murdering axe from the novel, wielding it over Jethro.

For a minute, his eyes darkened and a flicker of pain flashed through them, but it was gone so fast she was left wondering if she hadn't just hallucinated. She bit the inside of her cheek, wondering if it had been the mention of the divorce. For some reason she doubted it; he hadn't seemed to be that upset about it.

Now he was giving her a look like he wasn't quite seeing her, like he was thinking about something completely different. It started to freak her out.

"Sleeping arrangements," she said lightly, drawing his attention back to the real world.

He blinked and the distant look was gone instantly.

"You can have the bed."

"Don't be a martyr, _Jethro_," she said with an eye-roll.

He gave her a look.

"You want me to sleep with you?" he asked almost threateningly.

Jenny nearly laughed at the sheer irony of the question.

"Sleeping on the floor will cramp your muscles and you have to be in good shape for whatever we're doing in Marseille," she said logically. Then, as if the subject was closed, she moved on, starting to at the chicken out of her food now.

"Where are our briefs anyway?"

Jethro produced them out of nowhere and tossed them into the middle of the bed. Jenny scooted up and sat cross-legged, pulling one towards her and opening it up. She scanned the first paragraph, reading over the bold letters, and made a face, looking up at Jethro. He raised an eyebrow at her, having sat down and leaned against the headboard, mimicking her earlier stance.

"Photographing a Lebanese trawlerr? In some…dusty, cramped attic in Marseille?" she was less than impressed with their super-secret undocumented and technically illegal mission.

She could only imagine the mind-numbing boredom that would result from sitting with a camera for forty-eight hours.

"What are we going to do for two days?" she moaned.

"Photograph a Lebanese trawler," he responded smartly.

She looked up at him, giving him a slightly pouty look. He responded with a what-do-you-want-me-to-do-about it glare.

"I'm going to end up hating you guts after this, aren't I?" she asked, arching an eyebrow.

He smirked.

Jenny was tired an hour later. She hated flying because it messed up her sleep schedule, which she crafted carefully to her needs. At the moment, she felt like she'd missed half a day and should be awake, but she wanted to sleep. She stole Jethro's phone and called Decker to check in while she shut herself in the bathroom to brush her teeth and everything else.

Shutting the phone and giving it a glare for good measure, hoping Decker felt her wrath at his lewd comments; she brushed her teeth, brushed her hair, took out her earrings, and washed her hands. The one thing she did _not_ do was take off her make-up.

Jethro was sitting in the same place, looking over a file. So much for her seeing how he entertained himself when not at work. She shot the file a glance and gave him an identical one that he either pretended not to notice or actually didn't.

Jenny flipped off a lamp and finally received a look from him.

"You going to bed?" he asked.

"Why would you think that?" she asked, rolling her eyes.

He narrowed his eyes at her and scooted over farther as she pulled the covers back. Curling under the sheets, Jenny realized the hopelessness of this act. There was no way she was sleeping with him lying _right_ _next_ to her.

"You have fifteen minutes to turn your light off before I get annoyed," she informed him, half speaking into a pillow.

Three minutes later, the light went off. She was slightly impressed that he was nice enough to do that. Except she stopped being impressed ten minutes later when he had moved at least twelve times and was in the middle of turning again.

"Stop moving!"

He stopped for about thirty seconds.

"You wouldn't be so uncomfortable if you got under the covers," she sighed exasperatedly, turning slightly on her side to squint at him in the dark.

He glared at her.

"No," Jethro responded shortly.

"Aren't you a saint," she muttered sarcastically, dropping her head back down and rolling back over.

She closed her eyes lightly, biting her bottom lip. Jenny didn't know which was the better idea, him staying on top of the covers or getting under them. She certainly knew which one she preferred. Sleep pulled at her eyes but she fought against it. He was stressing her out.

Jethro finally stopped moving, and for a while she listened to his breathing calm and even out slightly.

She doubted he was sleeping, but then again, he probably knew she wasn't either.

* * *

_xoxo_

_Alexa_

* * *


	2. the Fedora

_A/N: thanks as always to aserene! Again, I have to say, I've never been to London and most of this is going on research, so don't hate me if I butchered a few facts--feel free to correct me though!_

**

* * *

**

Jenny's sleep was interrupted all at once by bright lights flipping on and an alarm going off loud and obnoxious. With a tired groan, she pressed her face into her pillow and pulled the covers around her neck.

She felt like she'd only just closed her eyes. She regretted not going to sleep, but she'd deemed it safe to let herself rest _only_ when she'd heard Jethro starting to snore quietly.

Blindly, she rolled over and moved towards the sound of the alarm, vaguely noting that there was no one in bed next to her and confirming that Jethro was the evil bastard who'd done the light-flipping and alarm-setting.

Jenny swatted the alarm off of the bedside table and heard a loud curse. She smiled a little smugly as she dropped her head back onto a pillow and hoped the alarm clock had hit him somewhere very unpleasant.

He jerked the covers off of her. She opened her eyes with a glare.

"Bastard," she muttered, pushing herself up and drawing her knees up to her chest.

She blinked a few times, trying to clear the sleep from her eyes and catch her bearings. It was freakishly cold in the room and she shivered, drawing her knees closer to her. Jethro was standing off to the side of the bed, a file in his hands. He looked up at her as she muttered another curse at the cold and started laughing.

Jenny gave him a suspicious look.

"What?" she demanded, secretly getting a little insecure.

"Your hair looks ridiculous," he snorted.

Jenny reached up to touch the tangled mess on her head, narrowing her eyes. She resisted the strong urge to stick her tongue out at him and glanced at the alarm clock that had fallen next to his foot on the floor.

"You snore," she informed him pettily, even though his light snores were hardly offensive and almost barely audible.

Jethro shrugged.

"You kick," he responded.

"I hope I hurt you," she retorted darkly.

He smirked.

Jenny didn't like that smirk at all. If he really doubted her ability to hurt him via kick, she was going to show him what Steve Madden heels could do when he least expected it. Oh, the thought just made her smile.

Much happier, Jenny tilted her head to check the time. It was quarter after ten, which wasn't too early. She still would have been grateful for a nice, relaxing day in bed—though, she mused, as she took a quick glance at Jethro's wrinkled clothes and tussled hair, not necessarily _sleeping_.

Giving one last thought to peaceful sleep, Jenny got out of bed and pushed her knotted hair behind her ears, locating her bag and rummaging around in it for some clothes. Most of the apparel she'd brought was on the casual side.

Jethro watched her take her clothes in the bathroom and kick the door shut behind her, dropping the file he had onto the bed. He pulled a collared shirt out of his own bag and changed swiftly, tossing the wrinkled t-shirt onto the floor. He remained in the jeans he'd slept in last night and sat down at the desk, leaning forward and rubbing his face.

He needed coffee, preferably with a generous shot of bourbon. Leroy Jethro Gibbs was no stranger to pulling all nighters and his ability to focus had never been dampened by lack of sleep, but he was worn out from the effort of consciously _not_ going to sleep. He knew he must have fallen asleep at some point, considering the alarm had woken him up, but it couldn't have been for very long.

He did, however, distinctly remember Jenny kicking him in the knee at one point.

Seeing her in compete disarray and fresh from sleep, with her hair knotted and messy like someone had been running their fingers through it, was unexpectedly a turn on. This was ridiculous. It was like for some screwed up psychological reason he'd become even more attracted to her since they left the States.

Things just felt easy with her. In a twisted sort of way that involved public embarrassment and injury.

"What's wrong with you, Jethro?"

He glanced up when he heard her inquiry and leaned back without bothering to answer. She squinted her eyes at him and shrugged, chalking it up to him just being weird. Jenny threw the clothes in her hand at her bag and studied him.

"How do you intend to entertain me today, Boss?" she asked seriously.

Jenny quirked an eyebrow, knowing they had to relieve Decker and Kasey the next day in late afternoon and they didn't have any orders to follow in the meantime. She hoped to God he wasn't planning on building a mini boat to keep himself occupied.

"I need coffee," was his gruff response.

He got up and snatched his wallet off the desk and pocketed it along with his badge. Jenny noticed his gun was already slung around his waist, which meant he must have slept with it holstered. That information interested her.

He jerked open the door rather violently and Jenny raised her eyebrows in mild surprise. Jethro stopped and looked at her as if waiting.

"You coming?" he asked.

Jenny startled. Had he just requested her company? _It must be raining gumdrops…_

"Buy you a cup," he said.

Jenny shrugged and followed him out, pulling the door shut behind her. Smiling lightly as he pushed the button for the elevator, she sighed and tilted her head.

"What if I want to get tea?" she asked with a tease.

"You're fired," he responded instantly, with a glare.

Jenny laughed.

* * *

Leroy Jethro Gibbs endured his plight with mild acceptance, naturally pretending to be more bitter and annoyed than he actually was. It wasn't as bad as it could have been; at least he wasn't being dragged around to insufferable girly boutiques while Jenny decked herself out in frilly blouses in jewelry. She was more interested in the historical sites, and Jethro didn't really mind being dragged around to see Big Ben, The Tower of London, a few parks, and a few palaces.

She was poking her nose around in Soho now, weaving in and out of people while he hung back, surveying the area. He was in an unfamiliar place, and a stint in the Marines had branded him with the habit of watching the goings-on closely and getting a feel for his surroundings.

He managed to catch sight of her red hair as she wandered into a shop and caught up, standing outside and glaring menacingly at passersby. It amazed him how inconsiderate and obnoxious tourists were, and it ashamed him that some of the worst he'd seen had been Americans.

"Stop lurking like that, you creep," Jenny said in his ear, coming up behind him and putting her mouth close to his ear in the doorway.

She smiled as she came out of the shop, tucking an escaped lock of hair behind her ear. She looked around and frowned; it seemed to her there were more people on the street than there had been earlier. She came around Jethro so she wasn't in the way of the door and pulled on his arm, literally dragging him down the street.

"St. James Park," she said. He found it somewhat annoying she knew everything she wanted to see in London. She glanced back at him and rolled her eyes at his anti-social glower. "There will be less people. More open space."

He grumbled and allowed himself to be pulled, deciding it was worth the indignity if he could take the opportunity to give her backside a good look.

He saw the park looming and was immensely grateful. Jenny started to say something, turning slightly, when something seemed to catch her eye and she looked at him with a wicked grin before dropping his arm and disappearing into one of the stores closer to the park.

"Jen," he snapped in frustration, but she ignored him, already halfway into the open and airy shop. He moved out of the way of a few pushy tourists and started to peak his head in. She re-appeared less than five minutes later, holding something behind her back with a suspiciously arched brow.

"What have you got?" he asked, dodging around her.

She pulled him to the side and whipped her hands out from behind her, setting something on his head. His hand immediately went up to snatch at the mystery object but she caught his wrist, laughing.

He twisted to look in the glass of the store window.

"What the hell is that?" he growled.

"A fedora," she answered airily, laughing. She reached up and touched the brim, adjusting it on his head.

"Why?" he asked threateningly.

"Because you bought my coffee! I had to return the favor, and I just couldn't resist," she started laughing again, "It suits you. You've got an…_Indiana Jones_ sorta thing going on."

He glared at her, watching her chuckle lightly at his expense. That had to be the third or fourth movie reference she'd made today. She lifted an eyebrow at him as if daring him to reject her present and nudged him out of her way, beckoning for him to follow.

Jethro had to admit he was glad to get out of the crowd and into the park. There were still tourists, but they were spread out a bit more. Jenny seemed to relax a little; he hadn't noticed she'd been holding herself so tensely.

Scowling, he reached up towards the hat.

"Don't," she said mildly, glancing at him. She looked up at him and smiled fleetingly, "I think it's sexy."

He lowered his hand slowly and she smirked. She was quiet for a moment, a rare occurrence. She'd been ready with the jokes and the teasing since this morning, and she hadn't let up.

"I wonder if Decker and Kasey have killed each other yet," she remarked.

Jethro snorted.

"Depends on if he's tried the old charm on her or not," he said, thinking of the volatile relationship between Decker and his partner. They hadn't gotten alone since she had ratted him out to Morrow about that witness in one of his cases he'd been sleeping with.

"He wouldn't bother," Jenny said airily, "Kasey's a frigid bitch."

Jethro gave her a look of mild surprise at the insult, but she just shrugged nonchalantly.

Jenny lapsed into silence again, relatively comfortable with not speaking. Jethro sure as hell was okay with remaining silent as the grave, considering he had a problem with the English language or something. She looked over at him in the stupid fedora, smirking as she glanced away again.

It really did look unbelievably good on him. It made her imagine pushing him up against the wall and tipping it backwards in order to kiss him.

She chewed on the inside of her lip and tried to stop thinking, pushing the thoughts to the back of her mind and instead forcing her mind to dwell on the visit to the London Outpost this morning. Obviously, the NCIS London field had less to do than the Washington office, considering the lack of copious Marine and Navy presence. The atmosphere had been more laid back.

She and Jethro were there to 'officially' check in; that is, let the supervisor know they were checking in on the records as transfer overseas agents working in the London Field Office when really they were on Special Ops mission and the London Agents would probably never see them. It was just a territorial formality, to prevent confusion or mistakes.

Jenny had been desperate not to go back to the hotel room. She couldn't imagine what she would do, cooped up with Jethro and nothing but case files for twenty-four hours until they took over for Decker and Kasey in Marseille. That's why she'd forced him site seeing with her, though she really had wanted to see the city.

"What?" she asked suddenly, realizing he was saying something to her.

He gave her an annoyed look. He always took it as a personal affront if she wasn't paying attention.

"Dinner," he grunted.

Jenny grabbed his wrist and checked his watch. Sure enough, it was close to five, and they hadn't eaten since breakfast.

"No take-out," she warned primly, giving him a look. He met it with a stare that challenged her defiant look.

"I'll let you take off the fedora," she offered, even thought she'd much rather he kept it on and indulge her Indiana Jones fantasy. It wasn't often she found a man who could pull off an honest to God fedora.

"Fine. No take-out." He relented, as she turned him back and mentioned something about a place near the hotel they might check out for dinner.

She noticed, however, as they emerged back into the midst of tourism, he didn't remove the fedora.

* * *

"Shower's all yours."

Jethro looked up as she dropped a towel on the floor outside of the bathroom and knelt down by her bag, rummaging around. She pushed wet hair behind her ears and sat back on her heels, giving him a curious look.

"You turned the TV on?" she asked, lifting her eyebrow in mild surprise. He shrugged, not answering. Obviously, the TV was on. She shrugged lightly and pulled another book out of her bag and threw herself on the bed horizontally, stretching out on her stomach.

"_Law and Order_," she noted, smirking.

He gave her a suspicious look.

"You mocking me?" he asked. Jenny shrugged, shaking her head as she opened her book and propped it up on the bed and fluttered through the pages.

"I'm impressed. I pegged you more as a …_Cops_ sorta guy," she teased.

He smirked, tossing the television remote on the bed next to her and heading for his own duffle bag, pulling out a random assortment of sleep-comfortable clothes. He, unlike Jenny, didn't have the pajama issue. He didn't actually own pajamas because he usually slept in jeans under the boat. She kept sleeping in shorts and casual blouses or t-shirts.

It was really making him wonder what she'd brought (or not brought…) to sleep in.

Jethro watched her close her book and roll onto her side, propping her head up in her palm and watching the TV show with interest. She didn't look the least bit tired even though it was almost midnight now.

He shut the bathroom door behind him and flipped the shower on, stripping his clothes off. He was beginning to think it was some kind of competition: see who could stay awake the longest.

When they'd returned from dinner, which had been had at a laid back pub nearby, Jenny had read over every single word in their mission file, complained a little about how boring it was going to be, and then ordered him to go back out with her to get ice cream. He'd checked in with Decker on the streets but talked to Kasey, who sounded stressed and angry.

Then he didn't even remember how the next few hours had passed, before she'd wandered into the shower for almost an _hour_. He seemed to remember talking more than usual. Jenny was still upset about the Virginia Detective's death, though she hadn't really come out and said it.

Jethro stood under the cool water and let it hit him while he tried to focus on work and business and not Jenny. Thinking about Jenny was the reason he was forced to turn the water to 'cold' instead of warm.

After a good thirty minutes of icy, unpleasant water, he toweled off. He ignored the stubble on his chin so he'd have something to do tomorrow morning and threw his towel in the shower for the cleaning service. At least, he'd noticed, Jenny had absolutely no problem with him throwing his clothes and stuff on the floor—especially considering she just dropped her stuff wherever.

Including prickly hairbrushes that possessed surprisingly dangerous bristles.

He pulled on sweat pants and an old NIS t-shirt before he opened the bathroom door, accidentally knocking a bag of Jenny's toiletries onto the floor. Just to be antagonizing, he left it there.

"Jen, tomorrow—" he paused, flipping off the bathroom light.

Jenny was asleep. He advanced towards the bed quietly, knowing it was seriously in his best interests not to wake her. He slipped the remote out of her grip and flipped off the TV, also picking up her book and laying it on the desk with the page marked. He hoped she wasn't one of those crazy people who got bent out of shape if you bent the spine.

Using only the small bedside lamp, he glanced at her and hesitated. He didn't really know how he was supposed to sleep with her sprawled across the bed like that. Not that he was going to actually sleep, but he did have to keep up appearances and pretend to.

"Jenny, move." He tried quietly. Wincing, he reached out and pushed her shoulder gently, trying to get her to roll over and to the side.

"No," she said promptly, her lips moving sleepily. He frowned, and walked around to the other side of the bed. Leaning forward, her maneuvered his arm under her shoulders and dragged her as carefully as possible to the side, hoping she didn't wake up.

"Jethro," she sighed, reaching out and grasping a pillow. He let go and stepped back, listening. "Stop doing that," she said, pulling the pillow closer to her and settling down.

Satisfied that she was asleep and happily talking away, he went back around to his side and stretched out on top of the covers again, doggedly trying to avoid temptation. He turned to look at her and she twitched her nose, her hair tickling her face. Her shirt was riding up at her waist, exposing her fair skin.

She was a tease in her freaking _sleep_.

With a grumble, he reached over to the bed-side table and turned the switch on the lamp, shrouding the room in darkness. As an afterthought, he picked up the fedora from the table and put it on his head, tipping it forward.

That would at least keep him from looking where he shouldn't.

* * *

_Next up...Marseille. :]_

_xoxo  
Alexa_


	3. Marseille

_An: Thanks to aserene...this isn't the chapter you think it is:]_

**

* * *

**

Leroy Jethro Gibbs gave the attic an impassive look as he listened to the muffled sounds of an argument and occasional outraged shouts. Jenny stood over to his left, her head cocked in interest, amused by the fighting.

"Heads up!" Decker yelled, chucking his backpack down the wooden ladder leading from the second floor to the attic. Gibbs caught it and set it down on the floor, watching Decker practically run down the ladder.

The other agent turned and gave Gibbs and Jenny a tortured look, and winced as his partner's sharp yell came from above.

"You better _not_ have thrown _my_ backpack down there!" Kasey snapped, her head appearing.

"Whoops," Decker muttered, looking at the backpack at Gibbs' feet. His own was secured on his back. He shrugged uncaringly and walked back over to the ladder, decently attempting to spot Kasey as she came down so she wouldn't fall.

His attempt was not appreciated.

"Don't _touch_ me, Will, or I'll castrate you," the woman snapped, jumping off the last rung and snatching up her backpack. Her look wasn't much nicer than Decker's, and it was clear by the way they were holding themselves the past two days had not been pleasant.

"Just tryin' to be a gentleman, 'Livia," he retorted. She glared, her hand placed on her hip.

"Stop calling me that," she snarled at him. "It's Olivia."

"It's one letter, what's the big deal?"

"You're a misogynistic asshole!"

Jenny turned away slightly, biting her lip to keep from giggling, and leaving Gibbs to deal with the team about to rip each other's throats out.

"Deck," he said coolly, drawing the younger agent's attention to himself.

Kasey snorted and stalked out, storming down the stairs to the first floor. They heard the door to the house slam as she exited and most likely went to stay by the exit.

"She is fucking _crazy_," Decker snapped defensively, pointing after his partner. "I've been sleeping on the wooden floor because the little _princess_ couldn't sleep without a blanket and stole the sleeping bag, _and_ she had to have the bed. She's convinced I'm trying to get in her pants. She's not even my _type_!"

Jenny snorted. She, for one, didn't believe Kasey wasn't Decker's type for a second. Girls were Decker's type, period.

"Update," was all Gibbs said. Jenny gave him a look for being no fun. She would have gladly listened to Decker recount his experiences cooped up with his partner. She might then know what to expect.

"Yeah, sorry," Decker grunted, taking a calming breath. "Right. Sleeping bag, one bed, there's lots of old weather-worn lumber up there so be careful. A few spiders and bugs, too,"

Gibbs glanced at Jenny and she looked away, swallowing her shudder.

"The binoculars and cameras are by the window in the corner, with a box of stuff. Extra mags, pepper spray, random stuff. Most of the activity is around lunch and dinner, and then early in the morning a few hours before breakfast. You just take pictures. It's really, really fascinating," Decker finished, rolling his eyes.

"If we see suspicious activity? Or violent activity?" asked Jenny, looking at Decker for the first time.

"Observe, photograph; do not approach," Decker answered. Jenny scowled. She didn't like the idea of watching a crime happen and doing nothing. Decker just shrugged apologetically, and hoisted his backpack on his shoulder.

"How're the hotel rooms?" he asked.

"Dunno we only had _one_," Jenny muttered.

Decker looked slightly pale.

"_One_? Then Kasey and I probably get only…" he trailed off, looking sick at the thought. Jenny saw his look and took pity on him. She pulled her bag around and fished the room key out of it, holding it out.

"Use ours," she said, shrugging. He looked like he wanted to kiss her as he took it from her and slipped it into his pocket. "Don't touch my stuff; I'll know." She warned, mentally accounting for everything she'd left in the room for when they returned.

"You just saved my life, Shepard," he said thankfully, giving her a grateful look. Jenny shrugged, smiling.

"Get back and check in," Gibbs said, tired of the standing around making small talk. If he'd had to suffer through two nights of painful sexual desire, he didn't see why Decker shouldn't have to suffer through his bitchy partner.

Decker nodded and turned to Jenny, giving her a smile.

"Wish I was up there with you, Jenny," he said, raising his eyebrow. She smiled indulgently and started towards the ladder.

"I bet you do," she retorted lightly, smirking. She pulled her pack off and thrust it up to the attic, pulling herself up after it and disappearing.

Gibbs gave Decker a hard glare as he grinned like he'd accomplished something and sauntered away, looking like the cat that caught the canary. He made a mental note to make some kind of rule about sexually harassing your partner. Or, more specifically, he was going to make a rule that no one was allowed to sexually harass Jenny, because it just pissed him off.

He yelled for Jenny to watch it and threw his backpack up before climbing up. It was stuffy in the attic, and a good deal hotter than it had been outside or even in the lower levels in the house. Jenny was crouched by the small, four by four window at the far side of the attic, peeking out towards an old dock below, where several ships were floating harmlessly. She looked over at him as he appeared in the attic and raised her eyebrow.

"This is _incredibly_ convenient," she commented.

She was right. There just happened to be an abandoned shack-like house near the docks, empty of everything but battered furniture and old appliances, that even had a relatively roomy attic looking out over the harbor and giving a clear view of the trawler they were scouting.

"Well," she added, looking around at the moth balls and moldy wood, "for an attic."

Both of the sleeping bags that had been with Decker and Kasey were spread out on the bed, along with two pillows. There was one pillow on the floor by the window with the box of stuff Decker had mentioned, and a light blanket.

"Guess Will wasn't kidding," Jenny remarked, jerking the sleeping bags off of the bed and throwing them on the floor. The mattress was ripped, but didn't look too nasty. The frame was old, kind of rickety with metal posts at the head.

"This bed has seen a lot of action," she said without thinking. She paused, holding her breath, waiting to see if Gibbs would make some sort of comment. If it were Decker, or even Stan or Pacci, a second wouldn't have gone by without a sexual remark.

Gibbs just looked at her with a raised eyebrow and his usual grim look. She shook her head and rolled her eyes to herself; either he was just _that_ respectful towards women or he was just really slow. Oddly, she got the feeling it was the former, and that was kind of sweet.

Jenny jerked the pillows off of the bed and threw them on the floor as well; picking up the binoculars out of the box and holding them in her hand while she knelt by the window again and looked out.

"This is fun. I feel like a _spy_," she said with a laugh, fully aware that she sounded ridiculous.

"We are spies," Gibbs commented, pulling a flash light out of his bag and getting up from his crouched position and moving towards the back of the attic with all the icky wood, shining the light everywhere. Jenny shifted, pulling the binoculars down and watching him.

"Gibbs?" she asked, knowing that's all she had to say.

"Checking for spiders," he grunted, knocking a pile of wood to the side. Jenny raised her eyebrows at his back. He stomped on something and she jumped.

"That's nice of you," she said teasingly.

"I'm not _nice_," he responded darkly, and she rolled her eyes. "I don't want you screaming like a baby and drawing attention to us."

Jenny shrugged and turned back to the window, smiling lopsidedly.

"Eh, liar. You just don't want me to know what a softie you are."

He grumbled something that she couldn't make out and she lifted the binoculars, satisfied with herself. Nothing was going on at the docks, other than a few teenage boys hanging out and smoking.

She had a feeling she was going to be fervently hoping for some kind of huge explosion before this was over, if all anyone was going to do was stand around and smoke. She heard a stomping behind her again, twice, and winced again. It didn't sit well with her that he'd already had to step on three spiders.

Since there were spiders and only one bed, again, she resigned herself moodily to the fact that she couldn't be sleeping well for the next three nights or so. She was already going on less than twenty-four hours of shut-eye, even though last night she'd slept surprisingly well for a few hours before she kicked Gibbs—according to _him_—and he decided to wake her up by hitting her with a pillow.

She was quite proud of the Indian burn he received in return.

Bored with the view already, Jenny set down the binoculars gently and turned around, leaning her back against the window and blowing her long bangs out of her face, watching Jethro as he came back from his round about the attic.

"We're not to engage," she started with a sigh, "we just sit here and take pictures. This is not what I expected when the words 'undocumented, even illegal' came out of Morrow's mouth. I joined NCIS to _do_ something."

He gave her an interesting look and threw the flashlight onto a pillow.

"I thought you joined for the cute outfits," he said mildly, as he snatched the binoculars.

"Jethro! You're making jokes!" she mocked, seriously surprised at the quip. His lips turned up at the corner as he took a look. He picked up a camera and traded it, adjusting the fancy lens.

"There's nothing down there," Jenny said blithely.

"Maybe not five minutes ago," he answered, snapping few shots. She twisted, squinting her eyes, and though she saw movement on the trawler's dock.

"Er," she said, turning back around, "whoops."

"Surveillance," Gibbs said patronizingly, the shutter clicking again, "means never taking your eyes off the target."

He went silent and then she felt him looking at her.

"Got it?" he asked annoyingly.

Slowly, she turned her head towards him and squinted at him, glaring.

"Gibbs, your eyes are off the target," she pointed out seriously.

"He's gone _now_," Gibbs answered.

Jenny opened her mouth, furrowing her eyebrows and about to throw his words back at him with a whole lot of smart-ass stress on a few certain words when she just changed her mind and shook her head, ignoring him.

She kicked away the blankets at her feet, the weight of them on her ankles and calves making it hotter than it already was. She leaned her head back, looking at the ceiling, smiling slightly, comfortable with the silence. She snorted, and he glanced at her.

"When my mother died," she said without prompting, "I camped out in my attic, wearing her silk robe and reading the books she wouldn't let me read. Noemi couldn't find me for _hours_," she snorted, thinking of how scared her maid had gotten until Jasper Shepard realized where Jenny was.

She was mildly surprised she'd volunteered that information so readily. That was what this attic made her think of though, and she just felt like saying it.

"Harlequin?" Jethro asked, and she couldn't tell if he was teasing or not.

He was thinking of Diane's smutty novels and even a few of Shannon's more risqué books that she kept away from him, claiming he was too _male_ to read them.

"Anne Rice," she muttered, rolling her head from side to side again. "She had a fetish for vampires, but she claimed they were too violent for me and locked them away when she caught me reading one."

Her mother would probably roll over in her grave to know Jenny had poisoned her sweet, girly mind with tales of bloodlust and murder. In fact, her mother would just have a heart attack over her precious debutante joining an armed agency instead of marrying a rich stockbroker.

"You were young when she died?" Jethro asked, looking at her with an inexpressive face.

Jenny was slightly surprised he showed an interest, but nodded, not volunteering anything else. She'd been thirteen when her mom died, and they hadn't been getting along for years. Her mother wanted her to be a socialite, the perfect army brat. Jenny wanted to play with her father's guns.

Sighing loudly, Jenny crossed her legs in front of her and closed her eyes, rubbing her neck.

"It's sweltering up here," she mumbled.

"Feel free to take your clothes off," Jethro responded, without even meaning to. He half-froze after he said it, because he _really_ hadn't meant to say it out loud.

Jenny turned to him with a bemused expression; her arm paused at her neck.

"I didn't mean it the way it sounded," he said gruffly, covering quickly.

Jenny smirked.

"The hell you didn't," she said, settling back. He turned and glared at her menacingly. She raised her eyebrow, pulling her head back a little. "Don't glare at _me_, Jethro; _you're_ the one thinking about me naked."

"I am not thin—"

"Liar," she interrupted smartly.

"I am _not_ thinking about you naked."

"You're protesting too much," She pointed out primly.

Jethro fixed her with a classic glare and she just smirked, rubbing her shoulders and turning away while he grumbled something again and turned back to the window. She smiled to herself and leaned her head back, annoyed at the crick in the back of her neck. She'd slept with her head in an awkwardly bent position last night, like someone had dragged her. It was hurting and this atmosphere wasn't making it any better.

Jenny reached for the button on her shirt and started undoing them; Jethro looked at her with something akin to disbelief and almost outrage. She lifted her eyebrow at him, continuing to undo the buttons until he could see she had a tank top on under the button-down. He glared at her for some reason and picked up the binoculars, shoving them into her hands.

She smirked.

* * *

"I think that kid finally got his girlfriend's bra undone," Jenny remarked, amused, as she tilted her head and squinted through the binoculars.

Jethro gave her a mean glare out of the corner of his eye, lowering his camera. Jenny kept her eyes trained on the teenage couple on the beach.

"You are supposed to be watching the cargo ship," Gibbs informed her through gritted teeth. She snorted derisively. _As if I didn't know that…_

"That same guy has been sitting on a crate smoking for two hours. What the hell are you _watching_ for?"

Gibbs just grabbed the binoculars and pointed her in the general direction of the ship, so she was again watching dark-skinned, hairy man sit on aforementioned crate and smoke his cigarette, as he had been for the past two hours.

"Can _you_ undo a bra in one go, Jethro?" she asked mockingly, thinking about how long she'd watched that teenager struggle.

"Having trouble with yours?" he retorted, quirking an eyebrow. He half-grinned at her, and Jenny gave him a mock honored look, at least glad he'd decided to lighten up a little.

"Cute. You didn't answer the question," she pointed out, without missing a beat. She had to stop herself from accidentally offering to let him take hers off.

"I don't know," he said, and she gave him a funny look. She highly doubted Gibbs had never removed a bra, considering he was married. And if he hadn't, _well_, then that explained some things about Diane. "They usually just fall off for me," he added slyly after a moment.

Jenny burst out laughing, dropping the binoculars to the floor. It was probably the funniest thing he'd said to her since she met him.

"God, Jethro, you have a sense of humor," she snorted, leaning against the wall at an angle.

He smirked, lowering the camera to chest level. She lifted an eyebrow at him, sobering up and going for a more serious look.

"You may have to learn how, you know. To unsnap one," she informed him, as if it were a very weighty matter.

"Yeah?" he grunted, giving her a look. "Why's that?"

Jenny shifted to her knees and leaned forward, reaching for her bag, making sure she brushed against his back as she did.

"_Mine_ hasn't come off yet," she said teasingly.

She pulled her bag towards her with a proud smirk, unaware that she'd just sent her Boss's blood from his head elsewhere at the word 'yet'.

Jenny unzipped the bag and pawed through it for her food. They weren't supposed to leave unless it was absolutely necessary, especially since that would mean leaving the other alone without back-up, so she'd brought food. She'd also made Gibbs' pack some; even though he thought he was Superman and didn't need to eat.

"You know," she started, settling on Oreos and sitting back. Gibbs glanced over at her as she started speaking again, and did a double take that she didn't notice. "If you—"

"Jen, don't move."

She froze, her eyes widening.

"Why?" she asked slowly.

"Don't move," he repeated calmly, setting the camera down gently and leaning forward. Jenny started to jerk back when she remembered she wasn't supposed to move. He scooted closer and reached out; she thought he was going to touch her face and that made it difficult to sit still.

It was difficult to stay still because he kept getting closer, and it was making her nervous. He suddenly put his other hand over her mouth and she narrowed her eyes, jerking this time.

"_Damn_, Jen," he cursed, practically diving across her lap. He knocked her back into the wall and she squealed and licked his palm immaturely to get him off, starting to get really pissed at his behavior.

He jerked his palm back and straightened up a little, holding up a grand-daddy long-leg by its leg with a glare, showing her the reason for his antics.

Jenny shrieked. She didn't even mean to. It wasn't as loud as it could have been, since he was holding it far away from her. He dropped it and stepped on it, ending the problem easily. Jenny glanced fearfully at the spot on the wall where it had been by her head.

"I forgive you for almost crushing me," she said solemnly, relaxing. "Could you possibly have warned me you were going to throw yourself across me?"

He snorted disbelievingly.

"If I had said 'Jen, there's a spider behind you', what would have happened?" he asked.

Jenny paused reluctantly.

"I would have screamed," she admitted.

He smirked and nodded triumphantly, covering the part of the wood flooring where he'd killed the spider with the sleeping bag.

"Why are you so terrified of them?" he asked flippantly, crawling back to the window.

Jenny reached for her Oreos, scowling secretly at his back when she noticed half of them were crushed. She didn't answer his question; it was an irrational fear, she didn't have reason and to him that would probably look weak.

"You killed my Oreos," she mumbled at him.

"Fine. Next time I'll let the spider eat you."

She threw one at him. It glanced off his cheek and she snorted in a very unladylike way.

"How's Smokey down there?" she asked, looking out the window. It was almost pitch black outside now. Her mind told her she was tired but she ignored it. Gibbs shrugged, indicating the situation was still the same and still boring as hell.

"Its way past midnight," she said, kicking at his phone, "Decker said there won't be activity until early morning, dusk. Let's give it a rest," she suggested.

"To do _what_?" he snapped, giving her a look. It wasn't like they had anything else to do up in this stuff, hot attic…if you left out certain things _he_ wanted to do.

She shrugged, munching on her damn cookies.

"Play strip poker," she said, wiggling her eyebrows.

"No."

"Afraid you'll lose?"

"Afraid I'll embarrass _you_."

Jenny mimicked him childishly, sticking her tongue out. She realized that probably wasn't attractive, but unless his dive across her lap was an elaborately disguised plot to get into her pants gone horribly wrong, he was completely unaffected by this heat and proximity. She was suddenly tired, and suddenly very annoyed with him.

"We could play hide and seek," she snapped moodily.

"_What_?"

"You go hide," she said darkly.

He stared at her, unaware of why the mood had just shifted. She was still messing around, sort of, that he could tell; but she was glaring at him, too.

"Go to sleep," he said.

She glared harder. He _knew_ that had been the wrong thing to say. He put the camera down and turned away from the window, leaning against the wall and matching her glare before he pulled the box towards him and found Decker's notes. He opened them.

After a few minutes of silence, Jenny flopped down right next to him and stretched out along his legs, putting her pillow right at his feet and crowding him.

"What the hell are you doing?" he hissed.

"Making you uncomfortable," was her mumbled response into his ankle.

He swallowed. Yeah, she sure as hell was.

* * *

_I think we know what's up next.  
xoxox  
Alexa_


	4. That Second Night

_A/N: Thanks to aserene!_

_"Remember that stakeout in Marseille? August. Stuck in that attic with no air. Photographing everyone who boarded that Lebanese trawler. That second night, that's the frist time we--"  
--Leroy Jethro Gibbs, Season3Ep2 'KillAri2'_

* * *

Jenny Shepard was hot, sweaty, and tired—and not for a _good_ reason. The attic was ten times as hot as it had been last night; it seemed to soak up all sunlight and just bake in the sun all day and even though it was late afternoon now, the heat still lingered and left the air muggy and miserable.

"This one's new," she mumbled, adjusting the lens on her camera and focusing on a man approaching the trawler slowly.

She snapped a few pictures, trying to get a full view of his face. Jethro shifted, looking through the binoculars, and shook his head.

"Same guy as twenty minutes ago," he informed her, letting the binoculars fall carelessly.

Jenny zoomed in the camera as far as it would go, frowning. She shook her head, taking another picture, unwilling to admit he was right but beginning to recognize him all the same.

"Stop wasting film," he snapped at her. She pulled the camera away and gave him a look.

"It might be a different guy. He's wearing different clo—"

"Yeah, well, people change clothes Jen."

Gritting her teeth, Jenny raised the camera back to her eyes and bit her tongue, choosing to ignore him. Judging by the dampness of his t-shirt and hair, not to mention the hint of dark circles under his eyes, he was just as uncomfortable as she. She was willing to let his irritability slide for now, especially when she was sure he hadn't slept since they'd gotten here.

Her sleep had been fitful at best. It was a half-awake slumber; she'd tossed and turned, consciously ordering herself not to talk in her sleep. When she'd woken up with her head across Jethro's knees and her hand resting on his thigh, she was too tired and hot to even react properly embarrassed. She'd just said 'this is awkward', sat up, and reached for a sickeningly warm bottle of water.

"What about this guy? You familiar with his closet of apparel enough to tell me if it's okay to photograph him?" she asked mockingly.

Just because she was going to let his irritability slide didn't mean _she_ was going to be nice. She hadn't had real food in over twenty-four hours, hadn't had a good sleep in three or four days, and was sticky with sweat. No one could expect her to be civil.

Jethro jerked the binoculars up and looked, tossing them unceremoniously into her lap. He nodded shortly and gestured to the camera. Well, she was sure glad she had his royal permission to click the shutter button.

She snapped the picture and unwound the strap of the camera from around her wrist, shoving it as roughly into his hands as he'd just thrown the binoculars.

"Your turn, oh-omniscient-one," she snapped, setting the binoculars carefully on the windowsill and rubbing her hands over her face tiredly. She pushed annoying tendrils of hair out of her face, for once annoyed that her hair was so long. It was thrown up in a messy bun, but she still couldn't seem to keep it from falling out and sticking to her skin.

Taking another forced drink of water just to keep herself hydrated, she capped the bottle and scowled at it. There was nothing that tasted worse than hot bottled water. She could practically feel melted plastic on her tongue.

"I guess there's no chance of going to get some ice?" she muttered in his direction, only half kidding.

"Quit complaining," snapped Jethro.

She gave him a disbelieving look that was quickly replaced with anger.

"I listened to you _bitch_ about missing out on your coffee all morning, and I can't make one complaint about hot water?" she snorted, shaking her head. She held out her hand and took hold of the camera, pulling it. He didn't let her take it, and instead turned and fixed a vicious glare on her.

"You need to sleep or _something_," she informed him sharply, tugging on the camera. He pulled it back and brushed her hand off of it, focusing back on the window with a set jaw.

"Don't need it," he responded shortly.

"Well, I would sure as hell benefit from you shutting the hell up and getting some rest, so give me that damn camera and go to _sleep_," Jenny snapped loudly, grasping his wrist.

"Right, and trust _you_ to get the job done by yourself," he threw back meanly.

Jenny let go of his wrist and stared at him, closing her mouth and pressing her lips together tightly. She didn't know why she deserved that, of all things. She hadn't done one thing wrong in this mission unless he really counted wasting a little film as a colossal blunder.

She got up and walked across the attic floor, shoving stuff out of the way with her foot, making sure to be careful of the square hole that led down to the second floor. She sat down on the questionable bed in the corner and leaned against the metal frame, relishing the shock of cool metal against her neck and shoulders.

"You gonna pout now?" he asked.

She narrowed her eyes at him, her fingers itching to pick something up and chuck it at him.

"You're an ass," she replied, closing her eyes and tilting her head back, counting to twenty under her breath to restrain herself. She was beginning to see why Kasey and Decker had been at each other's throats; even though she and Jethro got along infinitely better than those two she couldn't stand _this_ much longer.

She glanced at the growing shadows in the room, hoping to God it would cool down at least a little soon. The sun was already sinking and making it harder to see the trawler, which meant focusing closer on what was going on. Decker had checked in around noon, and informed them to expect a call from the Director at least once. Kasey and Decker had been confined to the London Outpost documenting photos and reviewing reports on Lebanon.

Jethro shifted suddenly and laid the camera aside, turning and pulling his backpack towards him. He pulled out two slightly bruised apples and tossed one to Jenny, giving her a short look.

"Eat. You look sick."

She rolled her eyes, turning the apple over in her hand to determine if it was safe. Who knew he'd be the type to pack _fruit_ when she ordered him to bring food.

"You know just how to make a girl feel pretty," she said sarcastically, deciding the apple would be more refreshing to eat than Oreos or her granola bars.

She brushed her hair out of her face again in frustration, watching him eat and trying to work out a way to relax her muscles some and cool off. The metal behind her was already warm from her skin, and sticky, making it more harmful than good to her mood.

"Shouldn't you be watching?" she asked bitterly, ignoring the look he gave her. "You know, since I'm neither responsible nor trustworthy enough to handle this kind of stuff, being female and all."

"I never said that," snapped Jethro, scowling at her.

"Is that what you wanted to say?" she asked sharply, drawing the apple away from her mouth and leaping down his throat. She swung her legs off of the bed and looked at him sideways, her eyes hard.

Jethro opened his mouth slightly, his eyes narrowing, but she cut him off, shaking her head.

"You've taken digs at my competence all day, why sugar-coat it now?" she stood up, folding her arms and glaring at him. "Tell me _why_ I'm not good enough."

"You're putting words in my mouth," he growled, giving her an accusing look.

"What else _can_ I do? You don't say a damn thing anyway; you expect me to interpret what you want _when_ you want it and it's still _not_ good enough! What have I done that's so incompetent? Where the hell did I lose your _trust_?"

She stepped towards him, as he stood up across the room, no doubt unwilling to let her have the higher ground. She was furious suddenly and she couldn't explain it, blaming it on everything from the extreme heat to sleep deprivation. She hated that his disapproval got to her this much, and she knew she didn't deserve it.

"You don't know everything, Jen, you're still a probie," he snapped, still remaining surprisingly calmer than she was. "You're still making mistakes at every turn—"

"_What_?" she interrupted loudly, her eyes going wide. "I know you're _completely_ flawless, Gibbs," she snapped sardonically, "but 'mistakes at _every_ turn'? What the _hell_?"

"Manassas," he barked, and she winced visibly, hating herself for it. She pressed her lips together tightly, the corners of her mouth going white before she continued, her voice lowered a little.

"I told you that would never happen again. It was a mistake, but it was a plausible—"

"You panicked, you put your teams' lives at risk, you almost got _yourself_ killed!" his voice elevated at the last, shouting.

Jenny started across the room at him, her expression livid, her eyes stinging.

"Shame I didn't, then, huh?" she said hoarsely, "I'd be out of your way," she laughed sarcastically. Jethro's eyes darkened and he reached out, grabbing her arm and turning his back to the window, stopping her as she tried to walk past him.

"_No_, Jenny," he said sharply, a muscle in his jaw jumping, "Don't you _ever_ think that," he said, furious with her for even entertaining the thought.

She snorted derisively, her eyes suspiciously bright.

"Give me a reason not to, you arrogant bastard.," she snapped, jerking her wrist out of his grasp. "You've don't think I'm capable you don't trust me—"

"I trust you, Jen, but you're not perfect! You're still learning—"

"Give me a goddamn _chance_, Jethro! Stop holding me _back_ because you think I won't pull it off perfectly! I _know_ I'm not perfect! You're the one who thinks you're infallible, if you can't do it no one can!" she shifted backwards and her foot collided with his SIG on the floor, kicking it towards him accidentally.

"Watch your step!" he yelled, stopping the firearm with his foot.

"I suppose that's another way I'm irresponsible, isn't it? Just _proof_ of my incompetence?" she wanted to shove at him, kick at him, and tell him what else was frustrating her.

"You don't get it, Jethro; I can't work when I don't know what you want from me! All I get from you is disapproval for my mistakes and indecipherable looks; do you expect me to know what you want? What do you want from me? _What_?"

His hand flew to his temple, rubbing his head in distress, his eyes flashing in struggle.

"_Anticipate_," he barked, looking up at her, stepping closer and not noticing that she stepped back, "know what to do without being told. You don't need me to give your orders, you never have! You're better than that. You know your instincts better than anyone I've worked with, why don't you trust them, Jen? _Dammit_!"

He sounded so angry with her, so _frustrated, _and she reached out to stop him as he advanced, out of breath from shouting and trying to keep up with him while she was distracted by his proximity and the hard, blazing look in his enticing blue eyes.

"I trust _my_ instincts—you second guess me, you, _God_, you—"

She faltered and he interrupted her sharply.

"So _hold your own_! This is a partnership, I have to know you trust _yourself_—you have to tell me what _you_ want—"

She didn't even know what they were talking about anymore. The words sounded like they had a double meaning. He reached out and tried to stop her from backing away from him but she jerked back, not trusting herself to be near him.

"_Jen_," he barked sharply, warningly, just as her foot hit the edge of the attic's exit and upset her balance. Her breath left her as she stumbled and forced her eyes shut, her mind prepared for a nasty fall. Before she knew what had happened, Jethro had her around the waist, pulling her stumbling forward against him as he backed away from the hole in the floor.

She gasped for breath, standing as still as possible with her hands gripping his shoulders tightly and adrenaline coursing through her like electricity. She pulled back but his hand shifted from her waist to her back and instead she released his shoulders and moved her hands to his face, jerking his head down to her and turning her head up to press her mouth to his.

He responded instantly, running his tongue along her bottom lip and coaxing her mouth open; her knees buckled and she let her hands fall from his face to his shoulders again, drawing his shirt into her hands and pulling him closer until all of him was pressed against her. She gasped for air, refusing to draw more than an inch away from him. He didn't give her more than a second to breathe; he took her open mouth under his again.

Jenny pulled at his shirt, fumbling with the material until she realized she was trying to get it off the wrong way. She dropped her hands to the hem and jerked it upward, attempting to get it off of him without breaking the kiss. He pulled back, his hands going to her top, and started yanking upwards as she threw his against the wall, her small hands falling against his bare skin and sliding over him eagerly. He groaned as he disposed of her shirt and pulled her back with his hand in her hair.

"_Bed_," she choked before he smothered her again, his lips demanding and possessive, charged with the same repressed lust and desire that coursed through her. He turned and pushed her backwards, his rough hands on her spine sending chills through her. She hooked her fingers into the waistband of his jeans, working her thumb against the button as the back of her knees hit the bed and Jethro threw her back onto it. He reached for the top of her shorts and tugged, pulling them off and leaving her in her bra and panties before him, his eyes raking hungrily over her body.

She gripped his wrist tightly and brought him down on top of her, her hands pushing at his jeans clumsily, too distracted and breathless to show any finesse. He was heavy, but the weight of a man had _never_ felt so good. She got his jeans off and threw them to the side, running her hand over the cotton material of his boxers and around to his navel. His muscles contracted and she slid her hand under the material, dipping lower. He pushed her head back gently, his lips falling to her jaw and her neck; his arm slipped under her to the clasp of her bra and he unsnapped it, drawing a smirk from her as she thought fleetingly of their earlier conversation.

Jethro drew the straps down her shoulders, kissing her where they had been, his hand following her skin from her neck to her stomach and back up again, brushing her ribs and the side of her breast. She moaned, heat pooling in the pit of her stomach. She wrapped her leg around one of his, his name escaping her lips in a hoarse whisper as he cupped her breast in one hand, his other weaving between them, flirting with the sparse silk covering her.

His hand stroked over her arm, slipping under her; she arched against him, finding them hem of his boxers and tugging. Silk and restrictive cotton were disposed off, thrown carelessly across the room; she didn't have time to think about what they were doing, she just wanted him to do it.

He shifted so she felt him pressed against her and shivered, turning her head to find his dark, cobalt eyes on her. She disentangled her leg and wrapped one around his waist, digging her heel into his back, pulling him closer, wrapping and arm around his neck to lace into his hair, pulling him close for another breath-taking kiss that had them both moaning in anticipation.

"What the hell are you waiting for?" she asked throatily, nipping his ear with her teeth, kissing his jaw, wrapping her other long leg around his waist.

He pushed into her and she gasped, throwing her head back, her hands tightening behind his head, in his hair. He gave her barely a second to adjust before he pulled out agonizingly and thrust back in, burying himself in her.

"_God_, Jethro!"

He didn't have the control or the restraint to take it slow. She threaded her fingers in his hair, pulled his mouth down to hers and kissed him, moaning against his lips every time he thrust. Her nails scratched down his back and her muscles contracted; she gripped his biceps on either side of her and broke the kiss, her breathing uneven and quick.

Her eyes fluttered and she dipped her head to his shoulder, biting him gently. He felt her muscles tighten around him; her hands gripped tighter at his skin, the fever of her hot, slick skin urging his pace on.

"Christ…_Jen_," he choked out, questioning, his shoulders shaking. She tilted her head to his ear, moaned his name loudly in response, her breath hitching.

He wanted her screaming. This was the fulfillment of a fantasy that had been playing in the back of their minds for months and he wanted this memory burned in her mind so it was all she saw and all she felt when she closed her eyes whether this happened again or not.

He found her hands and held them together in one of his, tightening his fingers around her wrists like a rope, pushing them over her head so her knuckles brushed against the bed frame. She bit her lip and gasped, her legs slipping at his waist. He pressed his mouth to her jaw hard, so her cries sounded in his ear.

He felt her coming undone around him and his arms buckled; he pushed against her hard, cresting with her, his shoulders shuddering with this release. He loosened his grip on her hands and felt his muscles relax as he collapsed, managing to shift to the side so as not to hurt her when he fell.

She drew her breath sharply, wincing as his warmth left her, suddenly cold where she had once been miserably hot. Jenny closed her eyes, swallowing, her breathing erratic. His heart beat against her shoulder; his arm lay draped across her stomach heavily, his skin hot and sweaty on hers.

She drew her lip between her teeth, listening to his harsh breathing, for once completely unconcerned with the consequences of her actions. She was speechless at how fast it had happened, how easily and naturally. The tension of the past few days left her body, giving her a sated and cool feeling as she lay next to him on her back, thinking only that her dreams had never been as good as he just was.

Lightheaded, she sighed slowly, finally catching her breath, the feelings crashing over her one at a time: disbelief, dizziness, ecstasy, lust again. Shifting slightly, so he moved his leg from between hers and lifted his head, looking at her indecipherably, she laughed.

"That was unethical," she commented, her eyes sparkling with mirth.

He lifted his head a little more and rested it on his palm, a slow, lazy smirk breaking over his face. He drew his hand forward, splaying his fingers across her stomach, an arrogant, proud look in his blue eyes.

She was amazed at how comfortable this was, how she melted to him, blithely unconcerned that she'd just recklessly made love to her boss in a dusty attic, potentially jeopardizing a mission.

He was caught up in thoughts of her body wrapped around him, her hands brushing against his skin and her how her tempting, seductive mouth had tasted when he'd finally been able to take it under his. He responded at the thought, trailing his hand lightly over her navel and lower, touching sensitive skin. She shifted towards him, rolling on her side a little, but he leaned over her and pushed her back to her original position.

"How unethical?" he asked mildly, his eyes mischievous.

"_Very_ unethical," she replied solemnly, as his fingers grazed the inside of her thigh and her eyes fluttered.

"That means bad," Jethro stated, leaning down to kiss the corner of her mouth, his mind fraught with thoughts of all the things he was going to do to her now that he could, now that he had permission, that were so deliciously _unethical_.

Jenny nodded, pursing her lips, arching her head so his lips met her jaw and he trailed kisses down the column of her neck.

"Bad, Jethro," she said chidingly, her lips turning up in a smirk.

She felt him smile into her shoulder, his hair tickling her neck and chest, his hand still lingering teasingly at her thighs. He shifted and placed his legs on either side of her, so he was on top of her again, walking his hand up from her thigh to her breasts, his eyes drinking her in with interest in the now almost dark room.

"We probably shouldn't do it again," he said wickedly, drawing the back of his hand down her side, shaking his head in mock dejection as he bent to kiss her again, lingering on her bottom lip until she moaned softly.

"_Probably_ not," she whispered, stressing the first word. She let his hands roam her; afraid she'd draw blood if she bit her lip any harder.

He murmured something unintelligible against her neck and scraped his teeth gently against her skin, sending a wave of heat down her spine. She shifted one of her legs out from under him, smirking as she tangled it around his, taking pleasure in the knowledge that he was unaware of what she was about to do. His mouth moved lazily lower and she faltered for a moment, closing her eyes briefly, before she wrapped and arm around his bicep lightly and upset his weight, flipping him over under her and pressing his shoulder back into the mattress.

His eyes went wide with surprise, the look on his face surprisingly cute and endearing. You would think he wasn't used to women taking the lead. She smirked and lifted an eyebrow drawing her nails lightly from his shoulder to his stomach, where his muscles tightened again.

"You don't mind," she asked, faking concern, "do you?"

His shocked look faded quickly to roguish and he reached up to place his hands on her thighs, stroking up leisurely, his fingertips sinking into her skin.

"Can't complain about the view," he quipped, his hands moving up her stomach.

Jenny leaned forward slowly, pressing her mouth against his chest as his hands roamed over her again, his touch teasing and sensual.

She hardly remembered they'd been at each other's throats ten minutes ago. It was a means to an end. It was due to sheer luck this hadn't happened earlier; back in London, on the plane even. She should be concerned about her job, their work ethic, the initial stupidity of letting this happen, but she wasn't. All she was concerned about was his hand fisting into her damp hair and his lips against her ear as he moaned her name.

She kissed down his chest, her stomach stirring, wanting him again, and again after that, if just to sate the intoxicating fantasies she'd been having for months now. He shifted under her, his fingers slipping through her hair. She worked a hand between them and gripped him until his breathing was strangled and short.

"God, Jen, what the hell are _you_ waiting for?" he asked gruffly, throwing her words back in her face as her mouth lingered at his navel, testing how long they could wait. She looked up and smirked wickedly, pressing open-mouthed kisses back up his torso until she reached his neck and straightened up, drawing his hands to her hips.

"I want it," she said, lacing her fingers through his and gripping him tightly, shifting her hips so she was almost on top of him, watching the agony in his face, "slow."

He groaned, pushing her hips down, his adrenaline surging at the thought of drawing this out. It was too much to feel her around him and be still, to wait; she pressed his hands against her waist and let go of him, pressing her hands against his chest. He bucked against her, his fingers tightening into her ribs, ignoring the brief look of discomfort in her emerald eyes.

She moved slowly, too slowly, her nails tightening into his skin, leaving crescent-moon marks below his shoulders. His hips moved against hers again, eliciting a moan from her. He roughly slid his hands down to her thighs, teasing her, watching her draw her lip between her teeth and furrow her brow, her eyes smoky, pupils dilated. She lifted an arm above her head, pushing her hair back, throwing it messily over her fair shoulders before she leaned forward, her pace quickening, and pushed his hands behind his head like he had hers. She kissed him slowly, her tongue claiming every part of his mouth.

Jethro gripped the metal frame tightly, his knuckles turning white, nails digging into his own palms.

"Jethro," she mumbled against him, her voice breaking, "_Boss_," she added, her breath hitching at his reaction, laughing softly.

"Jenny," he moaned hoarsely, throwing his head back, arching into her this time, desperate to feel her clench around him again. She curled her hands into the mattress behind his shoulders, dropping her head to the place between his shoulder and neck with a low keen, her tongue brushing against his skin.

She wormed a hand underneath him, flattening it against his back, pushing against him. She gasped as he thrust, moving her other hand to lie against his, wrapping her fingers around his on the metal frame. Unable to control it any longer, he let go of the frame, holding her hand in his to flip her over and take her hard, unwinding her easily, like it was the first time again.

His shoulders slumped, his head falling to her shoulder, mumbling her name thickly against skin that was once again warm and wet. She arched against him again as he rolled off of her, falling onto his back and jerking her roughly with him.

Jenny curled against his hot skin, shifting onto her side, her mouth open against his neck as she rested next to him. His breathing slowed easier this time, his fingers stroked up and down her spine lazily, his eyes closed. Sleep pulled at her eyes, exhaustion and post-coital bliss chasing away any remaining remnants of bitterness or irritation.

His hand came to a rest low on her back, flattening against her hip, his thumb tracing circles on her skin. Jenny gently blew her hair out of her face, no longer annoyed with it—no longer annoyed with _anything_—and let herself fall asleep.

* * *

Jenny stretched cautiously, rolling her neck. She lifted the camera in her hands silently, aiming it through the metal rods lining the bed frame and out the window, focusing in best she could in the dark on the three men standing on the deck of the trawler. Taking the pictures quietly, she lowered the camera to the mattress and glanced at her partner.

Jethro was asleep again, stretched out next to her in a mess of sleeping bags with his head against her side, breathing in and out evenly. He was tired; more so than she since he'd slept less beforehand, and his sleep was peaceful and quiet.

The temperature had dropped drastically after dark this time, leaving it cooler than it had been. He'd snatched up the sleeping bags and pillows and thrown them over her, not to mention kept her warm in other, more interesting ways. She smiled to herself, rolled, and pulled herself up all the way, feeling his hand slide off of her back and watching as he grasped a handful of blanket to replace her skin.

Jenny shifted backwards to the other end of the bed, leaning against the frame and drawing her knees up to her chest, her hand finding the t-shirt she'd throw off of him on the floor and pulling it over her head. She watched his sleeping form quietly, her skin tingling at the memories that hit her as she looked at him.

There was a musky humidity in the air, a smell of hot skin, damp hair, and sex that made her lazy, calm, and careless. She didn't regret a thing. It was risky; it was tense, it was inappropriate, no doubt stupid and incredibly sultry, this affair. Whatever it was.

Instead of feeling awkward, unable to work with him, she felt like it been a thousand times easier now that this had happened, that the tension was broken and out of the way and they could let it run wild up here where no one was watching and the heat was going to their heads and consuming them while they drank each other in, making up for lost time.

At one point, she wouldn't even have cared if he'd still been married, or if Decker and Kasey had waltzed right in, as long as he kept touching her like he was. Giddily, she remembered fleetingly thinking about calling Fornell and telling him he'd won his stupid bet, or just relishing the told-you-so look on Pacci's face.

She was behaving like a hormonal, uncontrollable teenager up in this private, stuffy attic and she just didn't _care_.

Jethro shifted in his sleep, and she watched as he looked up, spotted the camera, and raised his head, looking for her. She cleared her throat and he looked back, rolling onto his back and watching her wordlessly, blinking sleep out of his eyes. Just the enticing colors of his eyes made her want him again, and she smiled slightly.

"Sleep well?" she asked, only a little arrogantly.

Jethro snorted and smirked, raising an eyebrow at her tone. He glanced over her appreciatively, his eyes lingering on the lettering on his shirt, scrawled across her chest.

"Neglected our work," he commented, gesturing at the camera non-chalantly, not even forming a full sentence.

"Not _me_," Jenny answered primly, giving him a look, "I took care of it while you were sleeping. Managed it all by myself," she added with another quirked eyebrow, referencing back with subtlety to the argument that had gotten them into this.

He looked askance again to the camera and binoculars, tilting his head even more to read the notes she'd jotted down on a paper at the very edge of the bed, her neat, pretty handwriting standing out barely in the dark.

"You're good," her murmured silkily, double meaning laced through his words.

He rolled over, the covers shifting with him, and pushed up on his elbows, lifting the camera. She could tell without seeing that he was smirking, always proud of himself. She stretched out her legs and crawled forward, sitting lightly on his back, straddling him.

"You're not so bad yourself," she murmured in his ear, rubbing her hands against the back of his shoulders soothingly, massaging his muscles. He made a noise in the back of his throat, letting her run her hands over him as he caught up on their work.

"Jethro," she drawled after a quiet moment, kissing his shoulders, enjoying the way his muscles jumped beneath her lips.

"Jen," he responded smoothly.

She paused in kissing him, breathing in his heady scent of sawdust, strongly reminded of his basement and coffee mugs and mason jars full of bourbon. She licked her lips, pressing her mouth against his skin again.

"What _are_ we going to do for the next twenty-four hours?" she asked quietly, teasingly.

He shifted and she moved off of him, letting him roll over her, tightening his arms around her and pressing his mouth against hers, kissing her again until she couldn't breathe and he had to break away, his forehead pressed against hers. He smirked.

"Christen the floor," he said smugly, capturing her mouth again mid-laugh.

* * *

_You have no idea how stressed I was writing this. I kept watching the flashback to psych myself up.  
xoxo  
Alexa_


	5. A Realistic Cover

_A/N: Thanks to aserene!_

**

* * *

**

Jenny Shepard stumbled forward, laughing, her fingers barely grazing the doorknob as she was thwarted in her attempts to exit the hotel room. An arm snaked around her waist from behind and pushed her against the wall next to the door, holding her firmly.

Leroy Jethro Gibbs kissed her neck, his hands trapping her against the wall beside each shoulder.

"Jethro, we really have to—" she broke off, laughing, half-heartedly trying to swat him away. "We have to go this time!"

She slipped deftly out of his grip and pulled the door open, smirking at his disappointed groan as he followed her into the hall, slamming the door behind them and catching up quickly, pulling her back against him outside the elevators as he reached forward to press the button.

Jenny managed to wriggle out of his grip as the doors opened to a thankfully empty elevator and pull him inside, requesting the lobby and pressing _him_ up against the wall this time.

"I had a dream about this once," she said silkily, nuzzling against his neck.

"Did you?" he asked hoarsely, reaching for her blouse. She slapped his hand away, smiling.

"Mmm-hmm," she murmured, nipping at his ear. "It was _hot_,"

She felt him swallow.

"What happened?"

The elevator buzzed to let them know they'd arrived at the lobby and Jenny pulled back, lifting an eyebrow wickedly.

"Guess you'll never know," she sighed, shrugging carelessly and exiting.

She felt him glaring into her back as she made her way through the lobby, avoiding other guests. He wouldn't dare touch her in a public place, or at least she hoped he wouldn't; she was having a hell of a hard time keeping her own hands to herself. She glanced over her shoulder at him when she reached the glass doors, smirking.

"Coming?" she asked suggestively, opening the door mockingly for him. He slid his hand over hers on the door, giving her a dirty look, and waited for her to go through first. She shrugged in that unaffected way again and complied. He followed her into the comfortably warm London sunlight to the cab she'd called, grabbing the door before her and this time getting in first.

Jenny snickered under her breath as she slid in after him, giving the address of the London NCIS Headquarters to the driver as she shut the door. She let him get away with sliding his hand up her thigh under her skirt, tilting her head back against the seats and closing her mouth to keep quiet.

"They were expecting us this _morning_," she muttered out of the corner of her mouth.

"It's still _morning_," he answered, his voice much closer to her ear than she'd anticipated.

"Eleven forty-five?" she hissed with a smirk, pressing her leg against his, bare skin against his jeans.

"Five forty-five in America," he retorted, his hand creeping daringly higher under her skirt.

The driver glanced at them in his rearview mirror and Jenny nudged Jethro with her elbow, wrapping her hand around his arm and trying to push him away as she assumed a very professional demeanor.

"NCIS London Base," the driver announced boredly, after five more minutes of the most inappropriate cab ride of her life. Hardly holding back her giggles, she all but ran out of the cab and kept walking, forcing Jethro to catch up with her at a run.

He fell into step next to her, a slight smirk on his face and his hands empty of a coffee cup. He hadn't mentioned coffee in what seemed like days. Jenny flashed her badge confidently at the security check, nodding politely to the guard and passing through while Jethro did the same.

"Floor two," the guard informed them.

"We should take the stairs," Jenny said seriously as Jethro stopped in front of the elevators.

"The hell we should," he growled back as the doors opened. She could only pray the guard wasn't paying attention when he grabbed her wrist and jerked her stumbling in after him.

"About that dream…"

She tried to escape, mischievously squirming against him in just the right way, lowering her eyes in mock modesty as she raised her finger and put it against his lips.

"You shouldn't speak of such things," she whispered, leaning forward and kissing the corner of his mouth with as much restraint as she could exercise. She pushed him roughly away, turning her back to him and arranging herself professionally.

She shouldn't have the nerve to act like a professional now, considering the oh-so-_unethical_ details of the past night and early morning. Jenny Shepard couldn't remember having clothes on for longer than fifteen minutes in the past day and a half.

He followed her off of the elevator, stepping on the heels of her feet immaturely just to annoy her. Jenny stopped abruptly so he ran into her and looked around, taking in the London Headquarters with a decidedly innocent look. She felt his glare and ignored him, searching the area for either Decker or Kasey.

"Need help?" asked an agent, leaning back from his desk and covering the mouth of a headset.

The younger guy gave Jethro a freaked out look when all he received was a stare and Jenny rolled her eyes, shifting slightly in front of her Boss and answering shortly.

"Agents Decker and Kasey," she said.

"Oh," said the agent opposite her, "you're the Americans," he pointed towards the windows along the wall, farther down the office, and Jenny nodded. She turned and gave Jethro a look that told him to move it or get out of the away.

"'The Americans?'" he quoted derisively as they walked away, and Jenny hushed him out of habit, thinking along the same lines. None of the agents here were Brits; they were American citizens affiliated with the U.S. Navy and answerable to Director Morrow and the SecNav only.

"He's probably insecure in his masculinity and talks in a British accent to attract women when he's back home," Jenny whispered conspiratorially, drawing a snort from Jethro.

The London teams virtually ignored newcomers in their midst, either too busy or too unconcerned to care. They all certainly looked like they were doing something, which caught Jenny off guard. She'd naturally assumed they'd have nothing to do since Navy presence wasn't as heavy in the U.K. as it was in the States.

"Counter terrorism and Intel keeps them running," Jethro said, noticing her look. He stopped and she sidestepped him, following his finger as he raised it and pointed. Decker and Kasey sat at a round table in a more open area of the office, boredly shuffling through photos they'd poured out of a manila envelope.

Jenny put her hand out and threw it across Jethro's test to stop him from walking forward, nodding to their counterparts with an amused look. Decker had his head down on his hands, like a little boy chastised in school, and Kasey was leaning back, her arms folded across her chest, chewing gum and looking much like the snobby cheerleader.

"I take that offensively, William, very offensively—she's not any better than I am just because she doesn't care if you objectify her!"

Decker made a noise that sounded halfway between a groan and a scream.

"You can't _honestly_ think women find that attractive, that macho, chauvinistic _crap_. And I don't care how Agent Shepard reacts because—"

Jenny dropped her mouth open in mock outrage.

"That bitch is bad mouthing me!" she hissed, imitating a hurt high schooler. She clicked her tongue as she lowered her arm and started forward. "Poor _Will_," she cooed under her breath, approaching the table.

Jethro hesitated, slightly wary of what she was going to do.

"Decker, sounds like you've pissed off your partner," Jenny said casually, resting her hands on the back of an empty chair.

Decker's head shot up and he broke into a relieved smile, his eyes pleading.

"I didn't even—"

"He seems to think it's appropriate to make a sexual remark about me at _every_ turn," Kasey interrupted, turning to Jenny as if the other woman would support her.

Jenny just lifted an eyebrow, shrugging lightly as Decker shook his head in the negative furiously.

"_Relax_, Olivia," she soothed a little mockingly, smarting a little that the other girl thought she was a willing target for sexual harassment. "No need to be _afraid_ of some friendly innuendo," she added breezily.

Kasey did a spectacular impression of a pouting six-year-old. Decker stood up, his hands splayed over piles of jumbled photos, still looking very harassed.

"Where the hell have you guys been?" he asked, glaring at them for not arriving earlier and sparing him.

Jenny bit the inside of her lip to keep the smirk from spreading over her lips. She suddenly felt like it written all over her face in bold black marker, _'I had sex with Jethro'_, for everyone to see and judge. She hoped to God her cheeks didn't flush and she didn't blink too much.

"Catching up on sleep," Jethro said gruffly, as an answer, "Didn't get much in Marseille,"

Jenny nearly gasped; uncertain if the suggestion in his tone was actually there or if she'd just imagined it. Mentally reminding herself to kick him later for daring to say such a malleable thing, she just nodded, keeping her face poker straight. She should be ashamed, regretful of her actions, and remorseful for being so irresponsible in so many aspects of her job in the past few hours.

Yet all she could think about was getting back to that private hotel room, alone, and pulling Jethro into bed with her again and again…

"Yeah, lucky you," Decker muttered, throwing a look at his partner, "I'd have loved to do the same except my lovely partner insisted—"

"Oh, can it, Will," snapped Kasey, standing up and pushing her chair in.

"You wouldn't be willing to trade, would you?" Decker muttered darkly at Jethro. Jenny suppressed a grin as Decker looked back to her and snorted. "Ah, hell, who am I kidding?" he quipped, smirking at Jenny.

"Comments like _that_!" hissed Kasey, throwing her hands up. "You don't find that offensive, Jenny?" she demanded, folding her arms across her chest.

Jenny stared at her with a lifted eyebrow for a split second, hardly finding Decker's comment rude in any way.

"No, Olivia, I do not find direct compliments offensive," she responded pointedly, gritting her teeth together slightly. Kasey blinked in annoyance and turned. She walked away stiffly, without another word, and Decker gave Jenny a gleeful look.

"Do you know how long I've been trying to make her go away?" he asked, his shoulders slumping. "She's some sort of neo-crazy-feminist—"

"I am a feminist, too" Jenny interrupted with a short shrug. "I just prefer to use sex as a _weapon_ instead of trying to make horny men feel guilty about wanting it. That method doesn't work. Now, care to tell us why we're here?"

Decker stared at her, trying to catch up with her words. He turned to Jethro.

"Forget the trade. I'm stealing her," he said, smirking, not waiting for Jethro's answer. He turned, beckoning swiftly, and lead them back down another hall and up stairs to a floor where the London supervisor's office was located.

"Director has us on stand-by. Kasey and I have our re-assignment; we're somewhere in the north of Paris. It's all pretty heavy, we've been assigned a contact in the area—a NCIS agent who'd already been established overseas. I dunno what's in store for you."

Decker opened the door to the supervisor's office and walked in; interrupting a conversation the older man was having with one of his agents. Instead of looking annoyed, as Jenny would have expected, the supervisor glanced up and nodded.

"Gibbs and Shepard?" he didn't wait for confirmation, just picked up the phone on his desk, dialed, and waited. "Got them, sir," he said, and replaced the phone. He nodded to Decker. "Director's on line two in teleconference."

"Yes sir," Decker responded, ushering Jenny and Jethro back out the door. He showed them to the London equivalent of MTAC and scanned his I.D., stepping back to allow them in. Jethro waited to let Jenny through and she gave him a look as she passed, raising an eyebrow suggestively.

Director Morrow appeared on the big screen as they settled in the middle of the circular room, alone except for a few techs.

"Ah, my rogue agents." Morrow greeted, smiling briefly. "I'd begun to wonder if something had gone wrong,"

"Overslept," Jethro grunted, at the same time Jenny said "Running a little late." She bit her lip and waited for Morrow to continue, that feeling of having their dirty deeds written all over her creeping back.

"I see. Well, we're not wasting time," Morrow said, launching right into it. "Your photographs, along with your notes and any other material pertaining to the Marseille mission will be left in a sealed envelope at the London post, where it will be taken care of. From this point on, you will transition into using your false I.D.s and maintaining a very low profile. Contact will be minimal; often only consisting of paper mail or other undercover contacts. Are we clear?"

Jenny nodded, and saw Jethro do the same out of the corner of her eye. In the dark room, Morrow watched their reactions closely, seeming satisfied.

"We won't discuss your next operation over satellite; it would be unwise. The location of your new accommodations is in the possession of London's supervisor. You're aware of the risks of the job: be aware that they are now elevated. I don't feel I need to stress the importance of discretion to you, Agent Gibbs, or Agent Shepard."

"We have a specific cover?" Jethro asked gruffly. He crossed his arms and his shoulder brushed hers; she hadn't realized they were standing so close and shifted away unconsciously, wondering if anyone else had noticed.

"You're just inconspicuous," Morrow replied, looking distracted for a moment. He turned away, spoke sharply, and turned back, looking hassled. "Do whatever is necessary to maintain the illusion of just another married couple. Don't draw attention to yourselves…" the Director trailed off and his attention faltered, lucky for Jenny.

She snorted, trying to muffle it into her palm, and met Jethro's eyes over her hand as he looked down at her and raised an eyebrow, his blue eyes smoldering. She almost burst into laughter at the irony of it, her heartbeat jumping against her will, her mind wandering back to the cab and his hand up her skirt, all over her.

"I've got to cut this transmission; something urgent has come up. The last thing you need to know before I turn you loose," he paused again, listening, and then speeding up his words, "Doctor Mallard will be joining you, and should arrive tomorrow night at the latest. He's in possession of your mission briefs—is everything clear?"

"Yes sir," Jethro answered, while Jenny nodded sharply.

"Good luck then."

The Director's face faded from the screen and the emblem of the U.S. Navy appeared in its place. Jenny turned to Jethro, moving closer and lowering her voice so the techs couldn't hear, giving the impression of discussing their top-secret mission.

"How are we going to make this cover look realistic?" she asked, with mock concern lacing her voice. He smirked at her and turned, his hand falling to her lower back as he started to lead her out of the dark oval room.

"I can think of a few ways," he muttered, ducking his head down toward her ear and smiling a devilish smile against her hair. His body was warm against hers, intoxicating and still enticingly forbidden.

Jenny pressed her lips together to hide back a Cheshire cat smirk and struggled to keep her expression solemn, letting her mind roam over the possibilities.

* * *


	6. Pajamas and Ducky

_A/N: thanks to aserene! Eh...I'd say still beware of the rating._

**

* * *

**

He couldn't get enough of her screaming his name.

He collapsed beside her again, keeping her close, listening to her harsh breathing and unable to resist running his hand over her slick skin, eliciting a breathless moan from her parted lips. She reached down to grab his hand, too sensitive to be touched while she was still in the throes of it.

He propped himself up, extracting his hand from her grasp and tangling it roughly in her hair, pulling her mouth up to his and kissing her slowly, quieting her, easing her down from her high. Breaking away a fraction of an inch, he rested his forehead against hers, licking his lips. Jenny tilted her head back and opened her eyes, breathing in slowly, looking up at him.

"_Damn_," she said.

Leroy Jethro Gibbs smirked. For the moment he was satisfied, and from the look in her eye she was as well. He doubted it would last for long, but the lull was almost as good as the lust it followed. Shifting his leg against hers and tugging her closer, he lowered his mouth to her jaw and kissed her lazily.

"Jen," he mumbled.

"Mmm?"

"You won't be able to scream like that when Ducky gets here,"

He looked at her and she lifted an eyebrow, looking smug.

"Your loss," she said, pushing him back and sitting up, dragging twisted and ruined sheets with her, only managing to tangle her legs up in his more as she tried to pull them away. She smirked at him. "You wanted to hear me scream," she added in a low voice, trailing the backs of her fingers down his face.

He closed his eyes and sat up as well, pulling her roughly over his lap, tangled blankets and all. She twisted around in his grip and straddled him, reaching a hand behind him and playing with the hair at the nape of his neck, tilting her head at him.

She was so intoxicating, so sexy, and completely insatiable. He couldn't keep his hands off her—hadn't kept his hands off of her. She leaned forward and kissed him, short kisses, lengthening them every time. He pushed her back after indulging her and rolled over her, stretching out horizontally across the bed. Her hair tumbled off the edge of the bed, a scarlet curtain, curling with sweat at the ends.

Jenny wrapped her legs around him again, just holding him there, relishing the warmth.

"Christ, Jenny," he muttered, for seemingly no reason at all. It was becoming a common utterance in this room, second only to 'God, Jethro' or even the word 'unethical', which had become a raucously overdone inside joke.

Jenny braced her palms against his shoulders and shoved him to the side; rolling over on top of him and pushing her hair back carelessly as she leaned forward to kiss him quickly.

"Jesus, woman, you trying to kill me?" he mumbled. Jenny smirked, stretching her body out over his.

"Tired?" she murmured, taking interest in his ear.

"That would mean _sleeping_," he answered smartly.

"Hell of a waste of time."

Jenny smiled slowly and leaned back, tucking a strand of thick hair behind her ear. She studied him for a moment, chewing the inside of her cheek, trying to remember the last time she'd eaten. Sometime right after leaving Marseille? Yesterday? It ran together. It all ran together because all she was thinking about was him.

"What about eating?" she asked, positive he probably needed food. If she was hungry he had to be; she knew how men worked.

Jethro moved an arm under his head, supporting his neck, and seemed to remember there were other things in the world besides sex and Jenny—which was all he'd been thinking about since Marseille. He wasn't even sure he knew what time it was or where they were; he just knew they were in Paris and in bed and that's what was important.

"Food sounds good," he muttered, raising an eyebrow. Jenny nodded and flipped off of him, twisting the sheets around her and sitting up. He frowned at the cold that pelted his skin when her warmth left him and mimicked her movement, drawing the rest of the covers over his lap and trying to make his brain function normally.

Jenny stretched, rolling her shoulders back to work the muscles. She swung her legs off the bed and got up, acutely aware of Jethro watching her every move hungrily. She found his t-shirt by the foot of the bed and picked it up, tugging it over her head. After a minute of looking, she located her panties; unable to remember when they'd even come off. She opted for his clothes because her skirt and blouse were strewn over the stairs.

Jethro's eyes drifted up from the hem of his _Quantico _shirt, hitting her at her thigh, short enough to expose her silk underwear if she raised her arms.

He raised an eyebrow, as if to ask what he was supposed to wear. Jenny picked up his jeans from the doorway and found his boxers half under the bed and threw them at him, snorting at the surprised look on his face.

"I'm going to go find the kitchen," she remarked with a grin, amused that they'd been here God knew how long and the only place she was familiar with was the bedroom and the stairs of course.

She left him to dress, walking down the short hall to the stairs and kicking her blouse and skirt into a pile on the top stair while she rubbed the back of her neck. She wasn't paying attention, and almost killed herself as she stumbled against their luggage at the base of the stairs in a haphazard pile. Cursing loudly she managed to sidestep the pile without falling and glared accusingly at the bags, even though it was her and Jethro's fault they'd been left there while she was in pursuit of other things.

It hadn't kicked in yet, what they were doing, for either of them. She was high on the sex, drunk on the feeling, still careless and euphoric. She hadn't really thought about her actions and she didn't dare let herself take a quiet moment to do so, because her analytical and ambitious mind would only start working against her, whispering horrible scenarios in her head. It was just sex; it was workplace tension released at its best. That's as far as she let her thoughts go right now.

Jenny peeked into a front sitting room and moved towards the back of the urban Paris townhouse, a little like her Georgetown home, trying to count the times since Marseille. She couldn't; she lapsed into flashes of memory instead, her spine tingling at the images.

Finally her bare feet found tile floor and she stepped into a kitchen that faced a tiny yard, the windows showed the back of another neighborhood. Houses were close together and impersonal; she was glad she only looked at the back of another house or she'd feel watched.

A thought suddenly occurred to her as she paused at the refrigerator and she furrowed her eyebrows.

"You okay?" she looked up and Jethro was in the doorway, his hands braced on the walls on either side of him. She gave him a quizzical look and he smirked. "Heard you cursing,"

"Oh," she said, narrowing her eyes, "we should move the luggage," she informed him darkly, pulling open the fridge futilely.

"Jen?"

"We don't have any food…" she said almost sadly, shutting the fridge roughly. She turned to him and folded her arms; cold chills dancing up her arms in the aftermath of the frigid air. Jenny blinked and raised her eyebrow, starting to smirk.

"We forgot to get _food_," she repeated, sounding disbelieving.

Neither of them had been thinking about stocking the refrigerator. Anything domestic or practical had been far from their minds as they barely made it through the hour flight from London to Paris and the subsequent drive to the safe house before pretty much ripping each other's clothes off and falling into bed.

She looked at him without saying anything, her mission for dinner or lunch or whatever thwarted and her brain still not working well enough to think of what to do.

"I guess we'll have to get something," she said slowly, narrowing her eyes angrily at the refrigerator. She didn't want to leave! That meant getting dressed! That would ruin her mood! She looked up at him and unfolded her arms, sighing.

"No Chinese," she said suddenly, looking at him suspiciously. He smirked.

"Pizza," he said, bargaining.

"Groceries," she countered, muttering to herself, "I'll go out; there was a supermarket close, I think."

Jethro shook his head, straightening up.

"Tomorrow," he said, shooting her down, "it's after seven, its dark; we're in a crowded city. You're not going out alone,"

She put a hand on her hip and glared, raising her eyebrows.

"_Really_, Jethro? You—after seven?" she switched gears mid-sentence, faltering, her eyes going wide. He nodded in confirmation.

Jenny stared at him. They'd arrived in Paris at three and at the safe house half an hour later. If it was after seven…she burst out laughing, astonished at the hour. Losing track of time like this was recklessly irresponsible. Jethro just smirked, leaning against the doorway.

"Pizza," he repeated determinedly, lifting an eyebrow. Jenny rolled her eyes.

"Fine," she said, the sudden flare of anger she'd felt at being told he didn't want her out alone in a city disappearing. He turned and went towards the door, stopping near the pile of bags. Jenny followed him slowly, telling him he'd better get something good to drink as well.

"I'll clean this up," she said, gesturing towards the careless pile. Jethro nodded, watching her intently. After a moment she felt a blush creeping up her neck at his gaze, wondering what the hell could have him looking at her like that—until she realized he was standing there shirtless.

Her eyes brightening in realization, she smirked and played with the hem of the shirt, lifting it slightly. He watched her, raising an eyebrow. She whipped it over her head and held it out in front of her. He took it and pulled her forward by her wrist, running his hands over her bare back covetously and leaning down to kiss her hard.

He broke away with a smug smile and threw the shirt on over his head. Jenny crossed her arms over her bare torso and smirked, deprived of his lips and left in anticipation as he opened the door and slipped out, shutting it behind him just as it occurred to her that he might not be able to order a pizza when she didn't know if he could, in fact, speak French.

* * *

"If you can't speak French, how did you order the pizza?" Jenny asked, arching an eyebrow and refusing to give it up.

Jethro had stormed back into safe house acting like it was some huge shock that people in _France_ spoke _French_. It certainly explained why he'd been gone over an hour, when it should have taken forty-five minutes at the most.

"I forced one of them to speak English," he growled, glaring at her with a piece of pizza in his hands, as if asking her to leave him in peace and let him eat his damn food.

Jenny gave him a skeptical look and shook her head, not buying it.

"You just pointed at someone, ordered them to speak English, and it happened like the Holy Spirit raining down on Pentecost? Even you're not that good."

He gave her another moody look. Jenny smirked and took a bite of her pizza, happily imagining Jethro and some poor Frenchman attempting to break the language barrier. He muttered something rude under his breath at her and glowered.

"They know English, Jen," he said darkly, "they refuse to use it."

He thought back to one of the guys who'd finally stepped forward and translated in almost perfect English, a lofty look on his face.

"I'm sure they're not all like that," Jenny said, placating him, "it was probably just fun to watch you squirm."

Ignoring the annoyed look he was giving her, she replaced her pizza in the box and crossed her legs, leaning forward to snag her beer off of the floor in front of her.

"It might have been prudent to learn the language, though, _Jethro_. You're ultimate scariness is dampened when no one understands you," she quipped, giving him a snarky look.

"Right, and you speak _perfect_ French," he retorted sarcastically, rolling his eyes. Jenny paused with the drink halfway to her lips and quirked an eyebrow, giving him a superior look.

"_Oui_," she answered primly. He glared at her again and snorted, dismissing her flippantly. Narrowing her eyes mischievously, intent on proving that she could indeed speak perfect French, she set down her beer and shifted to her knees, crawling across the floor to him and tilting her lips to his ear, lowering her voice to a husky whisper.

"_Ah, Jethro, je vous veux. Je veux que vous me prenniez dur,"_ she accented the language flawlessly, allowing a purr to settle over his name as it rolled off of her tongue.

Jethro jerked back a little and shivered, his skin crawling pleasantly, almost dropping his pizza on the floor in front of him. Jenny pulled back to look at him, her green eyes sultry and triumphant, watching his slack-jawed reaction.

"Do that again," he said. She shook her head slowly, smirking.

"What did you say?"

"If you'd bothered to learn the language, you'd know what I said," she answered silkily, ever teasing.

"We had three days to prepare!" he whined, protesting her cruelty. A thousand and one translations were running through his mind, each one dirtier than the next. With her, he never knew.

Jenny just shook her head mildly and sat back on her heels, going back to her pizza like nothing had happened, watching him watch her in agony and suspense. He glared at her suddenly and lunged forward, grabbing her arms and pulling her tumbling into his lap. Jenny squealed and giggled, squirming to get away, but he forced her to be still and put his mouth against her neck, taking her piece of pizza from her hands and throwing it in the box.

"Tell me what you said," he ordered roughly, kissing her throat. She shook her head, shoving his shoulders, trying to worm her way out of his lap. "Squirming like _that_ will get you nowhere," he informed her, loving it way too much.

Jenny stopped, acknowledging his logic.

"Jenny," he murmured against her ear, dragging her name out coaxingly, "tell me what you said."

"I refuse to give in to coercion." Her voice hitched at the end though, almost betraying her.

"Never speak French and refuse to translate. It's a rule. Rule number…sixteen."

"Liar," Jenny muttered, reaching for her pizza covertly. He grabbed her hand and pulled it back and she huffed, using all of her strength to ignore his mouth. "Let Jenny eat her damn pizza and remain in possession of your manly equipment! _That_ is a rule!"

Jethro paused and pulled back, slipping a hand up her back and loosening his grip slightly, watching her like he was trying to decide if she were serious or not. She gave him a menacing look, nodding darkly. Reluctantly, he let her go, but she just turned and settled between his legs, leaning back against him.

"_Mon Dieu," _she hissed under her breath.

"Stop it," he warned gruffly, giving her hair a gentle tug in the back. She snickered and reached for her pizza, contented for the moment.

Jethro adjusted his shoulders against the bed, lapsing into silence, silently trying to figure out how he could acquire a French-English dictionary without Jenny finding out about it. He very briefly entertained the idea of asking Ducky then decided that was one of the worst ideas he'd ever had, considering who'd said it.

Jenny pried his fingers off of his beer and stole it, too lazy to crawl back to her original place by a bedside table and grab hers. She handed it back to him.

He still wore the misused and wrinkled t-shirt and jeans from their foray into the London Headquarters this morning, while she'd donned just a tank top after he'd left to get food. It was a miracle in itself that he could concentrate on eating when her smooth, bare legs were stretched out in front of him provocatively, but then again he hadn't eaten in probably a day so that could explain it.

He hadn't slept much since Marseille either, though for a whole different reason than before. Gone was the uncomfortable, pretend-slumber of the first few days in London; now neither one of them cared a whit for pretending to sleep when sleeping _together_ was much more fun. The few hours he had slept, just from a need for rest, he hadn't been plagued by one nightmare.

"Just thought of something," she said, breaking the silence. Her pizza was gone; she only had two pieces and he guessed that might be why she was so thin, if she always ate like a bird even when she claimed to be starving.

Jenny took a long drink and settled back, resting a hand on his thigh and tracing circles through his jeans lazily. He gave her hand a brooding look as he ate, waiting for her to continue and trying to decide if he wanted to finish his dinner or react to her hand on his thigh.

"I can wear those pajamas I brought now," she stated smugly, shifting to look up at him.

"Thought you didn't bring any," he retorted with a leer, raising an eyebrow. She shook her head slowly, smirking.

"I didn't bring anything I could wear in front of you _then_," she corrected, watching him finish his food with mild interest. Jethro just waited for her to continue, having already fantasized about the pajamas situation days ago. He'd been trying to figure out what Jenny slept in when she was alone.

"Circumstances have changed," she murmured, thinking of the scrap of silk she slept in at home.

It wasn't really a common bedtime thing; usually only for summer or when she just felt like having clothes on. She didn't know why she'd brought it instead of a t-shirt and pants or something conservative except that, subconsciously, she knew he'd see her in it eventually.

"Really? Changed how?" Jethro asked innocently.

"Oh, you don't remember?" she mused nonchalantly, playing along. She turned around, kneeling between his legs so she was eyelevel, and lifted an eyebrow slightly. He shook his head smugly and she carefully removed the beer from his hand, setting it aside on the floor. Her small hand slipped down his chest, her nails pressing against his skin even through the material until she reached the waist of his jeans and glanced down, looking back up with a knowing smirk.

"No memory at all?" she asked a bit skeptically, running her hand lower.

Jethro bit his lip and changed his tune.

"It's coming back," he said hoarsely, his hand snaking up her bare arms and into her hair again.

Jenny gave him a satisfied smile and pulled back, shaking his arms off gently and standing up. He dropped his hand down her leg, wrapping his hand around her ankle as she stepped away. She kicked her foot with a chastising look and escaped, to his dismay. He twisted his head around, looking over the edge of the bed as she disappeared out into the hall.

"_Jen_," he whined. She looked back in and rolled her eyes, waltzing back into the room and mysteriously over to the ensuite bathroom. "Where are you going?" he asked suspiciously, unwilling to let her out of his sight, much less out of his _reach_.

"Freshen up," she said sweetly, flashing him a grin as she shut the bathroom door securely.

He scowled at the shut door.

Jenny stripped off her panties and the tank top, slipping the tiny silk nightie over her head and leaning forward to splash water on her face. Her hair was a complete and utter mess, her make-up was faded and a little smeared; she looked like she'd been in bed all day—no pun intended. Frowning at her reflection, she smoothed her fingers through the red waves of hair, not sure if she was comfortable looking this disheveled in front of him.

Then again, she'd better get used to it quick if it was going to continue on like _this_.

Generally satisfied with her look, Jenny pulled the door back open and smirked to herself as she spotted Jethro's back to her. He was putting the pizza box and empty drinks on the top of a bureau in the corner. She flicked the bathroom light off as he turned around.

He paused, staring at her.

Jethro started at her legs, drinking in the view, eyes roaming over her as he tried to find material. The silk nightie—or lack thereof—barely hit her thighs. Mint green and trimmed with white, the straps were loose; one fell off her pale shoulder lazily and the other seemed to be barely holding the scarce material over her.

"_Pajamas?" _he asked huskily, finally meeting her smug eyes.

She affected a troubled look.

"You see my dilemma," she commented, sighing. He abandoned cleaning up, striding over to her and touching her arms almost reverently, sliding his fingers under the thin, thin straps of her so-called _pajamas. _"I couldn't exactly wear this, sharing a hotel room with my boss, now could I?" she murmured wickedly, rubbing her lips light against his jaw.

His stubble tickled her chin; he hadn't bothered to shave in the past two days.

"Hell, Jen, why wear anything?" he asked, lifting the straps off of her shoulders and dropping them, so the material slipped dangerously. He frowned when it failed to come off all the way and she laughed quietly, pressing against him to keep it from falling farther.

"That," she said teasingly, reaching between them to unbutton his jeans, "would be very unethical."

He knocked her hand out of the way and picked her up carelessly, turning around and dumping her unceremoniously on the bed. She pushed herself up with a slightly annoyed look and reached for him, pulling him by his belt loops down with her. She pushed his jeans down but he just knocked her hands out of the way again and went for her nightgown, reaching between them for the hem and tugging it down.

Jenny laughed outright, squirming to get back at him and grappling with his shirt.

"I would have worn it the first night if I'd have known—"

"What the _hell_ stopped you?"

He dropped the piece of green silk off of the bed, careful not to hurt it because he wanted to see it again sometime soon. Jenny pulled him down against her, lifting her knees and pushing his jeans off impatiently. He thrust against her just to tease and smirked at her sharp intake of breath, the fluttering of her eyelids.

"You know I don't like it when you make me wait," she murmured, attempting to flip him over and do the job herself. He fought her back down, refusing to let her win, and pinned her hands behind her head again, stretching both his arms out to cover them, dipping his face close to hers.

"You'll wait," he breathed, figuring he could get away with the bluff for all of fifteen seconds before he couldn't wait. "You'll wait until you tell me what you said,"

Jenny gave him a wicked smile and lifted an eyebrow; wrapping one silky leg around him and pulling him close, shrugging lightly.

"Is that all?" she asked innocently, leaning up as far as she could in his iron grip and putting her mouth next to his ear again, as she had when she'd first whispered seductively in French.

"Oh, Jethro, I want you," she simpered breathily, "I want you to take me hard."

Fifteen seconds were up.

* * *

Doctor Donald Mallard was exceptionally grateful for the quiet mid-morning cab ride he had to the assigned safe house in Paris, France. He'd just spent the early morning on one of the worst flights of his life, considering he was sitting by a woman who made his mother look perfectly and completely sane. On top of that, a small infant had deemed it necessary to wail for nearly the entire flight from London to Paris.

The good doctor never let it get to him, though. All it took was the silent cab ride, broken occasionally by scattered conversation with the polite driver, to cure him of his rare irritation. He was glad to be back in the City of Light at any rate; he had fond memories of a nice German girl and him taking moonlit walks during his Royal Navy days…

Smiling softly to himself, Ducky thanked the cab driver good-naturedly in French and made his way to the front steps of the townhouse, a rolling suitcase behind him and a large duffle bag slung over his shoulder. Taking out the key he'd been given at the London checkpoint, he opened the door, warming to the idea of seeing Jethro and Jennifer again. NCIS had been rather boring around without them around.

He just hoped his friends hadn't killed each other—or worse.

"Jethro?" he called, leaving the door standing open as he dragged his suitcase over the threshold and settled it in an out of the way place by the door. He heard the sound of hurried footsteps and Jenny appeared in the hallway by the stairs, her eyebrows up in mild surprise.

"Ducky?" she greeted uncertainly, then smiled broadly.

"You weren't expecting anyone else, were you?" Ducky asked with a smile. She shook her head, relaxing her shoulders and coming forward to shut the door behind him.

"No, I—lost track of time," she mumbled, tucking her hair behind her ears.

"I didn't wake you?" Ducky asked worriedly, taking in her bathrobe and messy hair. She waved her hand airily.

"I was in the kitchen," she said, reaching to take his duffle bag from him. "You should have called; I would have helped you with your things," she said. Ducky shook his head, telling her it was no problem at all.

"And where's Jethro this morning, my dear? I trust he hasn't been dumped in a lake somewhere," Ducky quipped. Jenny smiled prettily and shook her head, gesturing over her shoulder at the stairs.

"He _is_ sleeping," she said, but was stopped in what she was going to say next by Jethro's yelling:

"Jenny, where—" he stopped abruptly at the top stair and gave Ducky a mildly surprised look.

Ducky looked back at him quizzically; why on earth were they so surprised to see him?

"Hey, Duck," he greeted, leaning against the banister. Ducky nodded to him, more than surprised that Jethro was walking around in sweats and nothing else. It wasn't something he would usually do, much less consider professional, in the presence of a female co-worker.

Ducky looked back to Jenny, who hadn't even turned around and had moved towards his things.

"I'll get these things into your room," she was saying, lifting the duffle again, "you don't know how dangerous luggage can be," she added under her breath and beckoning to Ducky. He followed her with another curious glance at Jethro into a large bedroom to the right of the stairs.

Jenny placed his things neatly at the edge of the bed and he turned to her with concern.

"I would think you'd prefer the floor to yourself, my dear. It would provide more privacy," he said.

She shook her head easily.

"I'm already settled, and this will be easier on your knees," she said, sticking her hands into the pocket of her robes.

Ducky just nodded, still unsure. He hated to make her a martyr for his knees.

"If you insist," he said, "but please don't hesitate to ask for a trade,"

Jenny laughed good-naturedly.

"I'm sure I'll be fine," she said, turning towards the door. Ducky followed her out and she showed him the front sitting room across the hall, a sort of study next to that, and then the wide-open kitchen in the back, where Jethro had disappeared to, now wearing a shirt.

"Flight okay?" Jethro asked, leaning back against a countertop. He nodded to Jenny neutrally and she sat down at a kitchen table where a glass of water was sitting along with a newspaper.

"Oh, it was quite unpleasant," Ducky said cheerfully, shrugging. "I did survive, though I have a fancy for a good breakfast. What is there?"

He didn't miss the blank look in Jethro's eye or the hesitant and apologetic look in Jenny's as she looked up slowly, watching Jethro for a moment.

"We don't have any food," she said slowly, before Jethro interrupted.

"Pizza's in the fridge,"

"That's very well for you, Jethro, but pizza is not what I had in mind," Ducky paused, looking at them quizzically again, "What have you been doing that you didn't get food?"

"Sleeping."

"Working."

A momentary pause, and then Jenny leaned back, lifting her hands guiltily.

"It's been overwhelming," she said lightly, letting Ducky read into it whatever he wished.

Ducky nodded in understanding. He was sure being hustled from city to city in the span of three or four days hardly left room for relaxing thought. He would just have to remedy the situation himself.

"Why don't I take care of that? There seem to be places to buy groceries close," he said.

"I'll come with you," Jenny offered, closing the paper and standing up. "Let me get dressed," she added, slipping past him and taking the stairs quickly.

Ducky watched Jethro for a moment, noticing the absence of coffee, and considering it lucky that the other man wasn't a growling nightmare at this time if he hadn't had any. He very well might be; Jenny could be so eager to leave with Ducky in order to escape from him.

"You got the briefs with you?" Jethro asked, pushing away from the counter. Ducky turned and left the kitchen with him, nodding.

"Hidden away. I haven't looked yet; it seemed safer to keep them sealed. Jethro, why don't you let Miss Shepard take the downstairs room, she'd no doubt appreciate it. My knees are not at all bad—"

"Duck, _you_ try telling her what to do and see what happens," Jethro interrupted, snorting.

Ducky smiled.

"That sounds like someone else I know," he said, pausing at the stairs as Jethro turned towards them, "Perhaps she learned the stubbornness from you."

"No," Jethro snorted again, shaking his head, "it's all her." He started up the stairs to change, Ducky guessed, considering his sweats and t-shirt looked like they'd been slept in and Jethro wasn't (usually) one to walk around looking disheveled.

"She'll probably be down in an hour," he said after his shoulder, only half-joking.

It was just his rough luck that Jenny re-appeared, trying her hair up swiftly, and paused, glaring at him. She punched him in the shoulder as he passed and narrowed her eyes, having taken all of five minutes to get ready.

Jethro pushed her away absently, seeming to forget himself, and she laughed as she stumbled against the wall, darting her foot out to kick his shin. She gave him a smug look and met Ducky at the bottom of the stairs, looking refreshed.

"You don't mind a walk?"

"Never, my dear," he replied, perfectly happy to go for a stroll.

He re-opened the door, eager to get some food into the house. Jenny held it and let him go first, looking back up at Jethro as he called her name.

"Don't let him pick out all the food," Jethro said darkly, giving Ducky a threatening look. Jenny turned to him, bemused, and then back to Jethro. Jethro just gave her an ominous look and stared off.

Jenny paused in the doorway and smiled. She lifted a hand over her shoulder and waved.

"_Au revoir," _she said in perfect French.

Ducky heard Jethro grumble something loudly about French being the world's most annoying language before Jenny pulled the door shut and met his eyes with her bright green ones.

"Shall we?" she asked primly, holding out her arm. He laced his through hers and nodded, already beginning to wonder in the back of his mind.

* * *

_I really don't think they can pull the wool over Ducky's eyes:]_


	7. Experience

_A/N: Thanks to aserene! I have started working. Waitressing is stressful...because people are crazy._

**

* * *

**

Jenny Shepard stood in front of the kitchen microwave, tapping her foot absently as she watched the timer countdown slowly. She glanced over her shoulder at her colleagues in the kitchen with her. She'd forced them to open the thin curtain covering the kitchen's sliding doors and the covers on the windows even though Jethro had protested; she liked the sunlight.

Ducky sat composedly at the table, perfect posture as usual, a file opened in front of him, and Jethro stood against the counter next to a window looking generally grumpy and bear-like. Ducky was slowly working through the salad he'd fixed himself for lunch after their grocery trip while Jenny fixed her own lunch, and Jethro stood there muttering about waiting to eat until after they learned their mission.

Jenny had smartly reminded him multi-tasking was a requirement of NCIS agents and he'd shut up and resorted to mild glaring.

"It might be a good idea to invest in transportation," Jenny said, narrowing her eyes at the microwave to make it go faster. She was starving; last night's pizza hadn't really held her attention for long, not to mention how fast it had been worked off.

Jethro snorted.

"Buy stock in the metro?" he asked patronizingly.

Jenny lifted her eyebrow at him over her shoulder.

"No, Jethro, I was talking about a car," she answered, deciding not to be as rude as she'd initially wanted to be. Ducky looked up at her with interest, and she could tell at least he held her opinions in some regard.

"So we don't depend on public transport solely, you know," she continued, stopping the microwave right on the dot with a triumphant look and yanking it open. "There's a risk there since you sometimes need an ID for tickets, or if there's an issue with something. The less we use IDs the better,"

"Need an ID to buy a car," Jethro pointed out obnoxiously, and Jenny glanced at him again, glaring. "More paperwork, too. You leave breadcrumbs with paperwork,"

"Rain on my parade why don't you?" Jenny muttered. She pulled her bowl of instant macaroni out of the microwave gingerly, careful not to burn herself, and shut the little door as she turned around to mimic Jethro's stance opposite him.

"Surely there are ways we can get a car," she said, blowing on the pasta to cool it.

"Or we could use public transport," Jethro responded almost petulantly, watching her. Jenny put her spoon in her mouth and glared reflexively without malice, content to let him act manly and bossy if he wished. She noticed him looking at her mouth and licked the spoon provocatively when Ducky wasn't looking.

She widened her eyes innocently when he glared and shifted, looking away.

"Come to think of it," Ducky piped up suddenly, looking thoughtful, "There just may be an old friend of mine in the area who would be able to acquire a car."

Jenny looked at him in mild surprise. Ducky looked hesitant for a moment and then amused, glancing between them both.

"How opposed are the two of you to less than legal means?" he asked with a small smile. Jenny couldn't help but grin.

"You know an illegal auto dealer?" she asked incredulously, abandoning Project Drive Jethro Crazy with a Spoon to actually eat her food.

"Oh, my dear—"

"You'd be surprised who Ducky knows," Jethro snorted, interrupting. Ducky just chuckled.

"She lives in Lille. I'm sure I could arrange something...providing, as I said, unlawful means don't rub you the wrong way."

Jenny smirked disbelievingly.

"Ducky, our presence here is illegal," she reminded him.

"Ah. Therein I have my answer," the medical examiner said with a wink.

"How do you plan on explaining why you need an undocumented car, Duck?" Jethro asked, with the air of someone who'd just blown holes in a brilliant plan. Jenny gave a minute eye-roll that he miraculously saw and glared at her for.

Ducky smirked himself, laughing.

"Oh, no worries there. She won't ask one question; the thrill of adventure and risk itself is enough for Dahlia."

Jenny smiled and wiggled her eyebrows at Ducky.

"So your vagabond contact is a _lady_," she commented. "Romantic history? From your rebel days of car thieving, Ducky?"

"Nothing quite so exciting, Jenny!" Ducky laughed, waving her off. The corner of his mouth turned up in a secretive smile. "Though I'm sure she would tell you a different story…or two—"

"That you do _not_ want to hear," Jethro muttered ominously; in a way that made Jenny seriously wonder what crazy things Ducky had gotten up to in his younger days. Ducky just smiled mysteriously again.

"Don't dare listen to him, my dear; I was a perfect gentlemen from the day I was born," Ducky informed her.

"Yeah," Jethro snorted sarcastically, rolling his eyes good-naturedly, "and Jen used to be a blonde."

Ducky just smiled and shook his head, while Jenny laughed derisively. She was slightly surprised he'd used the shortened nickname in company and figured it was a slip of the tongue.

"You may never know what secrets someone's past holds," Ducky said mystically.

"Hey now," Jenny said, mock chastising, "I was _never_ a blonde."

Ducky chuckled, and tucked back into his salad. Jenny took another bite of her macaroni and Jethro cleared his throat impatiently, tapping the brief he had sitting next to him on the counter.

"Ah, yes, of course," Ducky said, gesturing for Jethro to go on. Jenny ignored his stares for a few seconds before sighing dramatically and turning to flip her own open.

"Why don't you eat something, Jethro?" she asked, leaving the open brief behind her and turning around to face them both fully again. She shrugged. "It might make you less moody."

"Not hungry," grunted Jethro, waving her off.

"Yes you are," Jenny muttered under her breath. He glared at her and she clamped her mouth shut, gesturing for him to go on.

"I'm not gonna read it to you," he said, picking his file up and holding it.

"I'm eating. I'll read it later. Or, since you're so impatient, you can tell me about it," Jenny suggested brightly. Ducky watched the exchange with mild interest, already in on the details of their ongoing op.

"Multi-task," Jethro said, pointing at her brief. Jenny rolled her eyes, dramatic again, and turned, leaning her hip against the counter and tilting her head to read the cover page. She sped-read, occasionally shifting her weight or flipping a page to scan the bold words or what looked important. Frowning slightly, she ate her macaroni and ignored the short conversation Ducky and Jethro carried on, blocking out there words.

"This is unconnected to Marseille," she heard Jethro mutter, and she flipped another page over, looking over a profile of someone. It may be unconnected with the Marseille stakeout, but the overall concept…

"—was Marseille, by the way? Decker seemed to think it was some kind of punishment from Morrow."

Jenny turned slightly, glancing at Gibbs through her eyelashes to see what he would say. He caught her eye briefly.

"Wasn't that bad," Jethro answered slowly, his voice careful.

"Perhaps because you seem to get along better—you know, Marseille really is a lovely place—"

Ducky began to babble and Jenny smirked over her shoulder at her partner, so many other ways to describe Marseille coming to mind. Considering how smug his eyes were, she guessed he was thinking along the same lines. She wasn't expecting Ducky to address her, and startled when he did.

"Hmm?" she asked distractedly, looking up and trying to pretend she hadn't just been making eyes at Jethro across the room.

"I asked what you thought of the experience," Ducky repeated calmly, "it being your first overseas assignment and what not.

"Oh," Jenny said, shrugging mildly. "It was hot," she answered mildly, forcing a smirk down and mentally ordering herself not to dare glance at Jethro to gauge his reaction. Ducky nodded sympathetically, and seemed like he was waiting for her to continue, but Jenny just bit the inside of her lip and looked nonchalantly back down at her brief.

Jethro buried his own smirk and dropped his brief on the counter where it had lain previously. He strode across the kitchen and opened the fridge, rummaging around. He came up with a beer and shut the refrigerator.

Jenny turned another loose page in her brief and found another profile staring at her. She flicked through the next few; same thing.

"This may be unconnected to Marseille, but the idea isn't much different," she said, dropping the papers and turning her back to the file, having seen enough of it to gauge their mission and be slightly uninterested by it.

Ducky looked up at her waiting, and she remembered he wasn't privy to the Marseille details and backtracked, steering the conversation in the direction of what they were to do in Paris and only Paris instead.

"Intel and counter-intelligence," she elaborated mildly, finishing up her lunch lazily, "the photographing, the watching, no approach-no contact policy—intriguing but hardly massively dangerous."

Jethro narrowed his eyes and shook his head.

"Don't think like that," he ordered, stepping away from the fridge and standing in the middle of the kitchen. "It's much more in depth. Terrorists, insurgency cells, arms dealers; it's ten times more in depth and risky. Men like this won't hesitate to put a bullet through your skull faster than you can blink if you _drink_ suspiciously," he said harshly, giving her a hard look.

"I wasn't down-playing the risks," Jenny retorted, slightly offended, "You have to agree that it's not as dangerous as infiltration or impersonation."

"You treat it as if it were," Jethro responded sharply, and Jenny glared at him. She hadn't been trying to sound flippant or dismissive of the operation; she wasn't stupid enough to think it was a piece of cake to go unnoticed when you were keeping a close eye on someone even from a distance.

"We're almost working blind," Jethro started; Jenny interrupted.

"We have profiles, known associates—these targets have the disadvantage, no us," she said, this time a little flippantly.

"Wrong," Jethro said sharply, focusing on her, "and never assume that. We have suspected felonies, tentative associations, and faces; we do not have cold hard facts, and we don't know how much they know about our surveillance on them. Don't think this is a laid back deal—"

"Don't for a second think I do," she interrupted shortly. "It wasn't what I was expecting; I anticipated more of a hands-on strike. Compared to what I imagined, this came off as less threatening. There wasn't a need to lecture me on the importance of my job—"

"You underestimate your job for a second, in paper or on the field, and that's a difference between—"

"Life and death," snapped Jenny, interrupting again. She closed her mouth and glared at him bristling. She wasn't sure what prompted his launch into lecturing and arrogant-superior mentor, but she resented it.

"Jethro, I'm sure Jenny didn't mean—"

"No, Ducky, it's fine," Jenny waved her hand with a smile at him, never one to let others fight her battles for her. "He's doing his job."

It was disconcerting to be treated like a probie suddenly. She questioned herself briefly about what kind of treatment she'd expected and realized she might have stepped in something complicated if she'd really thought Gibbs would stop telling her what to do because of Marseille.

She looked at him tensely in the silence, tapping a nail softly on her bowl. She put it down and folded her arms, blinking animosity out of her eyes and trying to shake the annoyed and slightly hurt feeling. She shouldn't have underestimated the job, but it stung to be called out like that, and in front of Ducky, too.

Jenny couldn't read the look in Jethro's eyes but he took a drink, and gave her a searching gaze over the top of his beer before going on, unfazed.

"Now it's a matter of organizing," he said, walking over to the table and pulling Ducky's brief towards him. He flipped through the profiles. "We have known locations of business: night clubs, obscure museums, parts of the city. Diversity on their part in order to throw law enforcement off the scent," he shut Ducky's file, and looked curiously at his old friend.

"Duck, what are your explicit orders?" he asked, breaking off his mission train of thought. "You don't do field work," he paused, leaving the sentence open.

"My extensive contacts," Ducky answered, shrugging. "It seems the Director took a look through my Royal Navy file and found my European knowledge and experience would be helpful."

"Why not send you to Deck and Kasey?"

"Am I not wanted here, Jethro?" Ducky joked mildly, smiling. He shrugged again. "My guess would be their mission is not the same."

Jethro nodded and looked up at Jenny, mulling over the thought. She drew her lip into her mouth absently and chewed on it; curious about the contacts and experience Ducky spoke of. Jethro set his beer down on the table and dropped his hand to rest on the file, staring at Jenny's mouth.

"Organization," he muttered, snapping out of it and drawing his eyes back up to hers. She just lifted an eyebrow ever so slightly, as if to admonish him.

"We focus on the locations listed. Duck, you'll deal with the Intel: cataloguing, filing, talking to these contacts of yours. Jenny and I'll work the surveillance and underhanded manipulation," he made sure he had Jenny's attention, speaking directly to her now. "We'll have to be vigilant. Mark times the targets frequent locations and be there, blended in and watching, every day, on the hour," he informed her, all business.

Jenny nodded, rubbing her lips together. She thought of the constant work that would take and an alarm bell went off in the back of her head—not because of the work but because of a risk she perceived in his orders, a risk of exposure. She started to speak and hesitated, holding back.

"And we've got to lay low at all other times; minimal activity when we're not scout—"

"Wait," Jenny murmured quietly, shaking her head slightly. She saw Ducky giving her a look like she was crazy but she ignored him and looked up at Jethro, furrowing her brow.

"It's not a good idea to go about it this way," she said slowly, flinching inwardly at the flash of annoyance in Jethro's blue eyes.

"You'd rather announce our presence?" he asked sarcastically.

"No, Jethro," she paused, looking at him meaningfully, "but that's what _you're_ basically suggesting." She finished, picking up steam.

He looked at her like she'd lost it, glaring. Jenny pushed on, reluctant to wait for his next dismissive or derogatory comment.

"Think about it," she went on, her confidence back, "think about other people. Bartenders, club owners, those who know who frequents their clubs. They're not our targets, but they'd notice us if we showed up at specific times always, watching, and we're new visitors they don't know. People would ask questions; and we'd have to rely on false back stories," she paused, a little encouraged by the fact that he hadn't yet yelled at her, "If we are noticed, our targets might be alerted, and then they pay more attention only to notice we've started showing up at their other meeting places to and like _that_ we're compromised,"

Jenny stopped, pursing her lips; glad she'd been able to voice that. Jethro moved his head almost imperceptibly left to right and leaned on the table, looking at her with a slightly patronizing look.

"Your suggestion?" he prompted, and she stiffened at the hint of mockery.

"It would be better," she said slowly, making it clear she was irritated with the treatment, "to ease in slow. Actually live the city like new citizens; see the sights, show up occasionally at the locations and target spots—uphold the cover. Flurry of activity on our part, acting normal, not just blatantly scouting specific places, is better than bursts of suspicious _watching _and lurking—Jethro, it's plausible," she broke off, snapping at the look on his face.

"It sounds like a trick on your part to use this as some kind of vacation," he retorted, snorting, "_Sightseeing_? Do you want to go shopping, too, and maybe take a glance at a terrorist on the way out? You can't use this mission to explore Paris like a tour—"

"You know damn well that's nothing like me," she interrupted sharply. "Blow off the job to see the city—what the hell is wrong with you? I have a valid _point_; working like you suggest will draw attention to us!"

"Not if you know how to blend in, how to lie low," Jethro argued tightly, "which you should have learned how to do flawlessly by now. We can't risk missing something—"

"Why? We're not allowed to touch them anyway, only _report_!" Jenny elevated her volume, glaring.

"Look," she said heatedly, pushing away from the counter, "when you're sixteen and you sneak into a bar, do you keep sneaking into the same one every night? No! That's begging to be noticed, or carded, or caught! You switch it up, don't go for a few nights, then go back, or else it would look out of _place_!"

"Lower your voice," Jethro snapped, and Jenny widened her eyes angrily. He cut off her comment before she could say it. "It's a valid point, yeah, but we're on thin ice here; in high-risk situations—which I've dealt with before, and longer than you. Experience—"

"Does not always win out, Jethro!" Jenny cried angrily, unable to stop interrupting again. Ducky shifted and stood up hesitantly.

"Jenny, dear, Jethro, calm—"

"Is that was this is about _again_? Me being the inexperienced, lowly probie? Jethro, if you do things the way you always have forever you will never see if there's a better way. You can't just cast off my ideas because your _ego_ protests; you can't _ignore_ me because you're used to being unchallenged _lawmaker_, because no one else will _freakin'_ stand up to you!"

Ducky closed his mouth, ignored by both parties.

"I do know more than you, Jenny," Jethro growled, his fist clenching on the table. "You accuse _me_ of arrogance, _me_ of giving too many orders and all of that crap but you don't understand that you are just as _arrogant_ in your assumption that _your_ ways work better than everyone else's!"

"Is it necessary to shout—" Ducky started, but was drowned out again.

"You confuse arrogance with confidence," Jenny yelled, "you're so used to Stan and Pacci and the others _mutely_ following your orders without a suggestion or a challenge that you think _my_ confidence in thinking I _may_ be right is arrogance!"

She glared at him viciously, her breathing heavy. His jaw set dangerously and a vein jumped in his temple; he swallowed hard.

"_You_ told me to trust my instincts," Jenny said, lowering her voice to a snarl, suddenly remembering their fight in Marseille. "You told me to hold my own and tell you what I think or want to do—and now _you_ don't like it. You're gonna have to fucking _deal_ with it _Jethro_."

She thought she heard Ducky suck in his breath disapprovingly at the use of harsh language and it was hysterically funny that he would, but she didn't laugh. She was too angry, and too freaked out about how fast this had gone volatile.

"Duck," Jethro said, as if wrenching his jaw open, "Give us a minute," he said through gritted teeth. It wasn't a request; it was an order.

Ducky looked half-mortified, half- wary, and looked between them both, his eyes lingering on Jenny sympathetically before he nodded and clasped his hands.

"Perhaps I'll—I'll walk off lunch while you two…sort this out," he muttered under his breath. Jenny looked away from him, setting her own jaw. She squeezed her arms tightly, knuckles turning white, and waited for Ducky to leave so Jethro could really start in on her. Ironically, she smirked, glad that he at least thought it decent to berate her and embarrass her alone—or at least finish doing so.

Ducky left quietly, and Jenny's gaze snapped forcefully back to her opponent as she heard him down the hall, finding his shoes in his room, quickly preparing to leave. Jethro didn't say a word; he just glared at her darkly, his blue eyes darkening to the angry shade of cobalt they always did when he was pissed—or, she remembered suddenly, and incredibly inappropriately, when he was aroused.

They both heard the door slam: Ducky announcing his leaving. He continued to glare and Jenny felt like screaming in frustration, having said what she needed to and just standing there waiting for him to give her more fuel to fight with. He looked like he was struggling; his muscles tense, and when he started forward Jenny stiffened considerably and stepped forward to meet him so he didn't have the advantage of having her trapped.

He trapped her anyway: grabbed her arms and pushed her roughly back against the counter, ignoring her shout of anger, his eyes going from hard to liquid-molten in seconds. He kissed her hard; bypassing etiquette and shoving his tongue practically down her throat. Her response was an angry half-moan as she curled her hands around his arms and pulled, angry and yet fascinated with him in control.

"Oh my _god_," she gasped when he broke away, his fingers digging into her arms tightly. Jenny brought up her arms, still in his grasp, and pushed against him, shoving herself away from the trapping kitchen counter and stumbling a little as she backed up, unsure if she was pissed or not.

She jerked her arms from his grasp roughly and ran an eager hand up his torso, wrinkling the material of his shit under her hand as she tried to feel his skin through it. She jerked the collar sharply and turned, forcing him to chase her up the stairs without even beginning to doubt that he would follow. He caught her at the top by the wrist and pulled her into his chest, stumbling again as she pulled him with her towards his bedroom and her back hit against his closed door.

"Dammit," he cursed, muttering against her lips as he tried to fumble it open without letting her go. Jenny reached behind her and slapped his hand out of the way, turning the knob easily with the flick of her wrist and almost ending up sprawled on her back when it swung open.

"You do need help with _some_ things," Jenny smirked, only to have the door slammed and herself shoved back against it as a retort. Her knees buckled under another harsh, hot, demanding and sinful kiss and she gasped weakly even though she swore there wasn't enough air in the room to help her catch her breath.

He ran his hands over her hungrily from shoulders to thigh, lifting her up and wrapping her legs around him as he pinned her against the door. Jenny reached behind him and grappled with his shirt, bunching the material in her small hands until she had enough leeway to jerk it over his head and let her fingers slip against his skin.

She felt him tighten against her as she raked her nails up his back and pressed against him, making it frustratingly hard for him to get her blouse off. He growled in her ear and spun around, tumbling onto the bed with her instead and letting her momentary disorientation give him the edge so he could rid her of the offending shirt. He leaned down and kissed a trail up her abdomen, hand snaking around to her back for the hooks of her bra.

"Still more experienced than you," he snapped back, claiming victory in unsnapping it. His triumph was a short-lived mocking smirk wiped quickly off of his face when she unexpectedly flipped him over and settled herself over his thighs while she pulled his belt loose, her own fierce smirk an unexpectedly powerful turn-on.

Just as sure as her, he upset her weight and returned her to her back, fighting her down when she tried to retaliate and unable to stop himself grinning when a giggle escaped her.

"Why do we _always_ have to do it your way?" she mocked, pulling him down to her while he struggled with his jeans. He smirked and pulled her shorts away.

"My way makes you scream,"

"I was already screaming, Jethro," she purred in response, alluding to the explosive way they'd ended up here. He shrugged and pressed his mouth to hers and kissed her urgently.

Jenny wrapped her hands around his biceps and moaned when he thrust into her, her entire body tense with anger and aching with lust. She pulled him as close as she could, her nerves already bound too tightly to wait long. He shook one of her hands off and ran his fingers over her leg around his waist, splaying his fingers over her thigh.

She couldn't remember if they were fighting or making love; almost too fast she was coming apart, yelling, _really_ yelling, and only able to fleetingly hope to God Ducky had taken a _long_ walk. Jethro's arm slipped down her leg to the bed beside her, shaking as he tried to keep up with her. His fingers curled in the sheets.

"What's taking you so long?" Jenny gasped teasingly, and that's really all it took. He groaned and his shoulders shook before he collapsed, knocking any of the breath she had left out of her when he fell. He turned his mouth into her neck and she shifted her hand up to rest at the back of his head in his sweaty hair, listening to his ragged breathing like it was a lullaby.

He rolled off of her and she winced at the unexpected pain, turning onto her stomach next to him and using his strong arm as a pillow.

"You still pissed, Jen?" he mumbled smugly after a moment, shifting towards her and pushing her thick hair off the back of her neck to kiss her. Her stomach clenched again and she moaned, hardly completely satiated considering how fast everything had just happened. His mouth slipped to her shoulders.

"I'm still pissed," she murmured, just loud enough for him to hear. He groaned, almost mock-exasperatedly, and shifted to his back again, grabbing her and pulling her on top of him. He stroked up her thighs until she whispered his name pleadingly again, with only the barest hint of an irritated snap present, and smirked.

"We'll do it your way, then,"

And somehow, without Jethro having to say it, she knew he wasn't talking about the sex.

* * *


	8. Chauvinist

_A/N: Thanks to Aserene--and thanks to MissJayne for the use of her car, "Tito"._

**

* * *

**

Jenny Shepard surveyed the bartender through her eyelashes casually as he fixed someone's drink with his back to her. She'd just settled down at the bar, and was just lifting her untouched drink to her lips when it was rudely plucked out of her hands and set down out of reach.

Glaring evilly at the hand that held her dry martini, Jenny tilted her head up to give the drink thief a moody look. He just gave her a serious look.

"Haven't I taught you anything?" he asked gruffly, sitting down on an empty barstool and gesturing to the bartender Jenny had been watching covertly. He managed to convey what he wanted without speaking a word, French or English.

Jenny raised her eyebrow at the tumbler of dark amber liquid that appeared in front of her and replaced her frilly drink. She reached out and pulled the glass towards her, looking at it suspiciously. He leaned on the bar, and she turned towards him.

"This," she said, lifting the glass of bourbon and pointing at it accusingly, "seriously damages my ability to think straight."

Leroy Jethro Gibbs smirked.

"I know."

Jenny grinned and took a drink all the same, the sting in the back of her throat not quite so strong this time around. She swallowed slowly and swirled the liquor around lazily, watching Jethro over the rim.

"Last time you made me drink this I got slightly intoxicated," she informed him, lifting an eyebrow and referring to their brief stint on security detail for SecNav. She hadn't been drunk, per se, but she hadn't been _sober_ either. A sober Jenny wouldn't have hiked her dress up her legs like she did in front of Jethro simply to remove a gun.

"I know," he said again, with another smirk. Jenny gave him a look. She decided against telling him that she'd learned she couldn't drink bourbon like she could something soft like a margarita and if he was planning on getting her smashed he was out of luck. She was too responsible to get drunk on the job anyway.

"You _know_," she started matter-of-factly, sipping the bourbon carefully and licking her lips, "you should have tried to sleep with me that night. You have no idea how easy I would have been."

She smiled sweetly.

"That would have been unethical, _Jen_," he answered stonily, giving her a no-nonsense look.

The joke never ceased to bring a smile to her face, and she arched her eyebrow mockingly. She tilted her head at him and watched him over the edge of her tumbler as she took another sip. Wickedly, she leaned over to invade his space and whispered against his ear:

"Do you know how badly I wanted you in my bed that night…?"

He inclined his head towards her slightly, nudging her with his shoulder to push her away and glared at her out of the corner of his eyes.

Jenny's smug eyes flicked back to the bartender.

He was one of their profiled, red-flag persons.

"See any of our other friends around?" Jenny asked casually.

She'd spent most of her time away from him in the lounge part of the club. They'd entered separately and made sure to stay away from each other for the near two hours they'd been watching and familiarizing themselves with their target's faces. That way, this meeting at the bar looked like nothing more than a man trying his luck with the woman alone at the bar.

Jethro shrugged slightly.

"Two: one male with an unidentified female, and one female. Entered separately, had minimal to no contact the entire night," he gestured between himself and Jenny, "like us. Keeping distance, presumably; or possibly they just don't know they work in the same ring. Different ranks; common with arms dealers and trafficking rings."

Jenny shot him a look out of the corner of her eye.

"Sir yes sir," she teased, taking another drink and lifting an eyebrow mockingly. He'd sounded so authoritative and military trained when he'd rattled off that information that she couldn't really resist.

He gave her an appraising look and she set her glass down casually, nodding her head every so subtly to the bartender across the way, where he was chatting in a low voice with a patron.

"He knows a few regulars," she said in an undertone, and then smirked, "real _friendly_ guy," she added, and Jethro looked at her sharply.

She turned on her stool and leaned back against the bar, her elbows resting on the sanded wood. Jethro gave the bartender's back a threatening look and leaned on the counter, half-turning to better survey the room. He started to find his previous target when Jenny's sudden movement caught his eye.

It was simple: she crossed her legs. It wasn't that her dress was particularly short or revealing; it was casual, a grey cottony material that hit her knees and covered her shoulders. But as she shifted her legs the material slid up and revealed just enough leg to remind him he hadn't seen her legs in over five hours.

Meaning his attention was officially shot for the rest of the night. He was still annoyed that she'd insinuated the bartender was hitting on her, and it was late anyway; they'd done enough for tonight.

Jethro downed the rest of his bourbon and wrapped his hand around her arm just about the elbow, tugging her towards him. She tilted her head towards him absently, her petite foot moving slightly with the background music.

"You ready to get out of here?" he murmured, kissing her behind the ear.

"Mmm, thought you'd never ask," she answered, giving him a look through her eyelashes.

Jethro smirked and let her hop off the stool, tossing some cash unceremoniously onto the bar with their drinks and tightening his grip on her arm just a little as he found a path to the exit through the other occupants of the club.

He opened the back door for her, exiting onto a different street than the one they came in on, and let go of her arm as he let the door shut behind him. Jenny blindsided him and pushed him back against the heavy door gently; she kissed him long and slow.

She pulled back and her lips curved into a smile as she let her hand slide off of his chest and started walking away. He gave her a dirty look, his blood pounding and his head spinning, before pushing off of the door and following.

He was slow to catch up to her. If she was going to saunter off and tease like that he was going to hold himself over by blatantly checking her out from behind. He ran his eyes over her slender legs, mentally stripping the dress off of her figure and smirking appreciatively.

"I can _hear_ you checking out my ass," she informed him smartly, not even glancing back at him.

He snorted. Surely she didn't expect him to feel guilty about it. He glanced up at the back of her head with a raised eyebrow, eyeing the dull glow of her red hair in the night light of the city. She found her way back to the street from which they'd entered the club, this one busier than the other.

Their quarters weren't in an exceptionally crowded part of Paris, and the club they'd been at was a more private area, in the city but not quite at the heart. They'd walked to the place after an early dinner because it had been light, not thinking about the hour they'd return or how much less interesting the walk back would be.

Over Jenny's shoulder, Jethro narrowed his eyes and surveyed the area, reluctantly drawing his eyes away from her ass to check out the area instead. It was hard to see people's faces in the dark and harder to spot threats—if there were any—until you were right up on them. Spotting a few shady looking men and women at the opening of an alley, grouped together, Jethro tensed his shoulders. He wasn't carrying; neither was Jenny.

"Jen," he said casually, keeping his voice at a neutral volume. She looked over her shoulder and paused in her step. He jerked his head and she fell back a few steps until he caught up with her.

Jethro slung his arm across her shoulders before he started forward again; his paranoia soothed slightly now that she was within arm's reach. After a minute, Jenny turned her head towards him and arched an eyebrow.

"Marking your territory?" she asked, and he didn't miss the slightly patronizing tone. He was hoping she'd take the gesture as more just casual than wary-protective but he should have known she was more perceptive than that.

He grunted at her reticently. Jenny rolled her eyes.

She gave his hand on her shoulder a pointed look but he didn't remove it and she ultimately decided to ignore the protective arm for the time being. If she needed to prove she could protect herself, she could do that at a later date; right now his body was warm and his arm was not at all unwelcome to snuggle into.

Jenny looked out over the city skyline, tilting her neck back against Jethro's arm and searched for the glowing white light of the Eiffel tower above the other buildings of Paris. She gave it an admiring look.

They were back on their residential boulevard faster than she expected, and the townhouses surrounding theirs were alternately dark or softly lit depending on the occupants. Jenny shook Jethro off of her at the steps and pulled his wrist, jerking him around in front of her and pressing up against him as she searched for the key, her hands roaming generously.

His head fell back against the door and he closed his eyes. She fished the key out of his front pocket, taking much longer than necessary, and raised herself on tip-toe to reach his ear as she wriggled her arm behind him to unlock the door.

"Ducky won't be back from Lille until tomorrow afternoon," she said temptingly, turning the knob and pushing the door open. He pulled her into the house with him and she kicked the door shut behind her, grinning.

"Good," Jethro muttered, sliding his hands up the curves where her neck met her shoulders. He leaned down and brushed his lips against hers. "He's been inconvenient,"

Jenny laughed softly and pulled back, reaching up to push his hands back and starting up the stairs, dragging her hand along the smooth, lacquered banister as she went. She walked her fingers playfully along the railing as she went for her room, or at least the room that Ducky _thought_ she was sleeping in.

She waited outside the door; her hand wrapped around the doorknob, and leaned against the doorframe, quirking a perfect eyebrow at him. He waited, even though it nearly killed him.

"I don't usually let the men who buy me drinks in bars take me home," she informed him with a tease. She raked her eyes over him appraisingly, finally settling back on his face. "Think you're gonna get lucky?"

Jethro crowded her, knocking her hand off the door and opening it himself. He pulled her in, shut the door, and pulled her towards the middle of the room.

"Yeah," he muttered arrogantly, pulling her close and running his hands over her back until he found the zipper on her dress and pulled it slowly down, pushing the material off her shoulders and letting it fall in a pool around her ankles.

She slipped out of her heels, the height difference dramatic. She pushed him backwards until the back of his knees hit the bed and he sat down, gripping her waist and pulling her forward. Jenny shoved him backwards and crawled over him, planting her knees on either side of him and leaning forward to kiss him.

Jethro ran his hands over her stomach and around her middle, pulling her down onto him and rolling her over. Jenny sighed and arched her head, letting him trail his mouth down her neck to her shoulder.

He lifted his head, looked at her, and cocked an eyebrow smugly. Jenny plucked at the collar of his shirt, then ran her hand between them, found the hem, and wrenched it up over his head. She moved her hand back to his jeans and pulled him closer at the belt loops, feeling lightheaded all of the sudden.

"Think you can pick up the pace?" she challenged.

He certainly could.

* * *

Jenny sat in the kitchen with a mug of neglected coffee and a plate of equally neglected toast, starring at them both absently. Her feet were freezing but she'd left her socks and slippers upstairs and she didn't want to risk Jethro waking up if she went back to get them, not when she was in this state.

She wiped her eyes again, sick of crying over her father.

One of her nightmares had woken her up, and she was surprised it hadn't woken him as well. She usually thrashed or yelled; this morning she'd just been crying. She'd slipped on her green night gown and thrown a robe on over it before escaping to the kitchen, grateful he hadn't been awake to see her.

Jenny hated dreaming about him. It was bad enough he'd died under suspicion of treason when she knew he would die—and he had—before betraying the country he'd served for over twenty-five years. She hated the powerless feeling of being unable to stop it, and it was an even worse feeling to know she was the only one who believed, who _knew_, that he hadn't shot himself in the head.

Jenny sighed and blew a few strands of hair out of her face, picking up a cold piece of toast and breaking off the edge. She wasn't really hungry but she figured she should eat something anyway. She heard footsteps in the hall and started eating the toast to look busy; at least her face was dry now.

She looked up when Jethro entered the kitchen in sweatpants and nothing else, not even bothering to hide her smirk when noticed his hair sticking up on the side. He gave her a suspicious look and walked behind her, pulling her hair out of its messy ponytail childishly.

"Hey," she protested, swatting his hand away. He dodged her slap and messed up her hair, throwing it over her face antagonistically and then swiping her second piece of toast. Jenny glared half-heartedly as he leant against the counter near the table, grinning at her.

"You're in a good mood this morning," she remarked, finishing her toast. She blew her hair out of her face again and Jethro snorted when most of it just landed back on her nose.

"Had a good night," he answered.

Jenny smiled smugly and pushed her hair back, shaking it over her shoulders. Jethro took a bite of _her_ toast and studied Jenny impassively. She shifted in her seat and pulled her coffee mug towards her, wishing he'd stop scrutinizing her.

Jethro finished the toast and came around behind her, resting his hands on her shoulders. He ran his hands down her front and pulled the tie of her robe loose. She tilted her head back reflexively and he kissed her neck.

"You're not," he mumbled.

"Not what?"

"In a good mood,"

He stroked her skin through the scant silk of her green nightie until he found the hem. Jenny closed her eyes and didn't answer, biting her lip instead. Damn him for being so perceptive.

"Something bothering you?"

Jenny shook her head slightly, prepared to deny it further if he pushed her anymore, and then lifted her head suddenly, reaching down to stop his hand.

"What was that?" she asked quietly, turning her head towards the door.

Jethro straightened up a little, leaning back to look down the hall. He heard another loud car door slam and, squinting, was fairly sure he saw a shadow outside the door.

"Ducky's back," he murmured, and Jenny immediately stiffened in panic.

"He's supposed to be gone until two!" she hissed, sitting up straight as a board and lifting Jethro's hand out of her lap. She stood up and turned around, giving a wary look down the hall and glaring at Jethro.

"Go upstairs!"

"What? Why?"

She gave him an annoyed look and gestured at their apparel. He just shrugged at her, prompting her to wonder if he was kidding around or not. Either way, she didn't want to be caught in this nightie in the kitchen with Jethro shirtless in his sweats. She left him in the kitchen and took the stairs quickly, shutting herself in her room to put clothes on.

At least Ducky's early, and somewhat inconvenient, arrival allowed her to dodge Jethro's question. Maybe she had woken him up this morning and just hadn't realized it. Jenny sighed and rubbed her face, kicking his jeans out of the way as she entered the bathroom and groped around for a hairbrush.

She brushed the tangles out of her hair, washed her face, put on some light make-up, and dropped her clothing on the bathroom floor. She dressed, checked her complexion, and left the bathroom, pausing at the top of the stairs after she exited her room to listen for movement.

She didn't hear any movement, but she heard Ducky's muffled voice outside so that's where she figured she should go. It was nice of Jethro to meet him outside instead of trying to fumble through an explanation.

Jenny opened the door of their temporary home and peeked out, pulling it open wider when she spotted Ducky standing on the sidewalk and Jethro prowling around inspecting a car parked next to the curb. She shut the door loudly to announce her presence.

Ducky turned and smiled warmly.

"Good morning Jennifer, my dear, how are you?"

Jenny ignored the way Jethro's head snapped up at the M.E.'s use of her full name and mirrored Ducky's welcoming smile.

"Fine, Ducky," she said, sneaking a peek at Jethro. He glared at her over Ducky's unsuspecting shoulder.

He'd risked calling her 'Jennifer' once during her training and had been kicked violently in the kneecaps for his efforts. She'd warned him that her use of her full name made it sound like he was disciplining a child and she was most certainly not a child.

He didn't know Ducky had called her 'Jennifer' to calm her down when she'd been upset after the Manassas incident. It was different with Ducky; he sounded like a caring grandfather. On everyone else's lips, 'Jennifer' sounded disapproving and reprimanding and reminded her annoyingly of her mother.

Jethro was lucky he got away with 'Jen'.

"I see your friend pulled through," Jenny remarked, coming down the steps and crossing her arms. She tilted her head at the car with interest.

"She never has failed," Ducky responded fondly, he turned toward Jenny as she settled beside him, "it's not particularly fancy, but—"

Jenny waved her hand absently to hush him.

"We don't want anything conspicuous," she said, "It's exactly what I had in mind."

Ducky beamed. Jethro had disappeared on the other side of the car, his feet visible if she bent over and tilted your head just right. Ducky raised an eyebrow quizzically.

"What on earth is he doing?" he asked.

"Being a man," Jenny snorted, positive Jethro was making a show of checking the tires and other attributes of the car. She walked up to the car and ran her hand along the paint job. It was a four door, medium-sized dark blue thing that looked like it was plenty trustworthy. And it certainly was inconspicuous.

Jenny opened the driver's side door, on the right in Europe, and slid in front of the steering wheel just as Jethro opened the other door and threw himself ungracefully into the seat. He put his hands up and stared blankly at the dashboard in front of him. Jenny giggled and he turned and glared at her, and the steering wheel she grasped.

"Did you learn _anything_ about Europe before we came?" she teased, arching an eyebrow.

He scowled at her and held up the keys, tossing them on the dashboard in front of him and examining the radio and other controls in the middle of the car. Jenny suddenly noticed he still wasn't wearing a shirt and watched his muscles ripple under his skin as he moved, pressing her lips together.

She glanced over her shoulder to see where Ducky was and lowered her voice.

"Jethro, why aren't you wearing a shirt?" she hissed. He glanced up at her.

"Didn't have time to put one on," he retorted, giving her a pointed look.

She didn't consider it quite fair of him to walk around shirtless like that. He noticed she was still glaring at him and smirked, leaning over to mess with something on the control panel.

"What's the problem, Jen, can't control yourself?" he muttered smartly.

Jenny wasn't about to let him know that he was half right. She rested her hand on the back of his shoulder lightly.

"You won't like me when I'm sexually frustrated," she warned. He snorted derisively.

"I think I've borne the brunt of that frustration a few times; I'll survive,"

Jenny dug her nails into him as a punishment for that smart ass statement and he tried to twitch her off. She laughed and drew circles on his skin with her nail.

"Is it to your satisfaction?"

Jenny jumped a mile and slid her hand off of Jethro quickly and hopefully without drawing attention to it, praying Ducky hadn't seen what was going on.

"Perfect, Ducky," Jenny said, slightly breathlessly. She beamed. "It's a good thing we've got you and your mysterious contacts around," she added.

Jethro straightened up, his usual blank and no-nonsense look back on his face.

"Take it for a spin," Ducky suggested. "It rides very well."

Jenny turned and reached for the keys Jethro had chucked on the dashboard but they had disappeared, and he was standing outside of the car. He bent over and looked in, his hands on the roof of the car.

"Get out of the car, Jen," he said, shaking the keys at her.

"Why?"

"I'm driving."

She raised an eyebrow in disbelief. Making a show of it, she planted her hands on the steering wheel and gripped it tightly, until her knuckles turned white.

"Are you now?" she asked blithely.

"I've got the keys," he responded smartly, shaking them patronizingly again.

"Make me move," Jenny challenged, glaring at him. Ducky chuckled and Jethro slammed the car door shut again, making Jenny flinch. He was going to have to be nicer to their little vehicle if he wanted it to last.

Ducky moved out of the way as Jethro came around to the driver's side, reaching in, and grabbed Jenny's arms, actually attempting to drag her out of the car. Jenny tried to wriggle out of his grasp, squealing in outrage.

"Why won't you—let—me—_drive_!" she managed, trying to crawl across the seats to escape from him. She momentarily forgot about Ducky's presence and shrieked when he leaned in and grabbed her around the middle, pulling her struggling backwards onto the sidewalk. She stamped on his foot and leapt away when his grip loosened, turning and rubbing her shoulder with a menacing glare.

"I didn't expect my suggestion to cause so much trouble," Ducky mused, and Jenny didn't miss his raised-eyebrow look at them both.

"It's not your fault Ducky," Jenny muttered, refusing to give up her staring match with Jethro, "Jethro's just being his usual macho, chauvinistic self."

"You've never driven a car with opposite steering before," he pointed out innocently.

"Oh, and _you_ have?" Jenny retorted, snorting.

"I'm the senior agent."

He actually kept a serious face, even under Jenny's baleful glare. She couldn't believe he pulled rank, and it sorely tempted her to either embarrass him or put him in an awkward position. Or both.

But she didn't. She could punish him later.

"Er…Jethro, it isn't necessary—"

"Ducky, don't bother," Jenny said lightly, waving her hand yet again. Ducky coming to her defense was getting annoying. She smirked at Jethro; just enough to let him know what was coming, and turned.

"I think I'm going to make him some lunch while I do his laundry," she threw over her shoulder, much to Ducky's amusement. "I might just bear his children while I'm at it."

She leaned against the door as she opened it and shot Jethro a menacing look. She heard Ducky's laughter as she shut the door and left Jethro to his manly car-driving pursuits.

She was going to break him of this chauvinist habit.

* * *

Leroy Jethro Gibbs was being denied.

He stared moodily at the ceiling of his room, lamenting the absence of a naked Jenny beside, on top of, or under him, and turned his stare into a glare when he thought about it again.

She'd never outright said he was being punished, but she'd quietly hinted that they had to sleep in different rooms while Ducky was around, just to keep up pretenses. Jethro had been all for just being really, really quiet—if she could manage that. Apparently accusing her of being too loud made her that much more intent on punishing him and she'd resolutely stayed in the kitchen with Ducky drinking his damn tea with a smug look until Jethro finally gave up and practically stomped up to bed.

He turned over again, unable to sleep and uncomfortable from thinking about what he could be doing to Jenny right now if she wasn't being so woman-ish about the car driving deal. It wasn't that he had a problem with her driving (yes he did) it was just that she looked pretty when she was pissed, and he had chosen to deliberately piss her off so her eyes would get that fiery look.

Throwing the covers off of himself violently, Jethro swung his legs out of the bed and made up his mind to ignore Jenny's wishes and creep into her room. When he got there, he planned on convincing her to let him stay using other means than words, means that wouldn't let her dare say 'no'.

She was just as insatiable as he was, and he doubted she was enjoying this arrangement even if she relished making him uncomfortable.

He squinted at the floor in the darkness just to make sure he didn't trip over shoes or something and rested his hand on the door knob, turning it slowly so it wouldn't make loud clicking noises. He was lucky that their accommodations were new enough not to creak.

Jethro barely opened the door enough to slide out and turned sideways, his back to the hall as he exited his room and pulled the door shut. He barely turned around in time to see Jenny walking towards him, her head down, presumably looking at the floor to prevent tripping as he had.

Seeing what was about to happen before he could react, he put up his hands to try and soften her impact but she smacked into him before he could grab her. Unfortunately, she let out a strangled, surprised shriek and stumbled back, her eyes wide in the darkness; so much for secrecy and sneaking.

"Shhhh!" he hissed childishly.

"What the _hell_ are you doing?" she hissed back in a panicked voice.

"Sneaking into your room!" he snapped in an undertone. She narrowed her eyes and stepped closer, lowering her voice even more.

"I told you we were sleeping _separately_!"

"Then _why_ are you creeping down the hall to _my_ room?" he retorted, right as the light in the foyer flipped on and cast a spotlight on them.

Ducky looked up at them from the foot of the stairs, a cup of tea in his hand, in a bathrobe and striped pajamas.

Jenny blushed furiously, reminding Jethro he was standing there holding her arms in nothing but sweatpants and she was, if his peripheral vision served him correctly, wearing her mint green lacy thing.

This realization did nothing for his comfort.

Not to mention he now felt like a hormonal teenager sneaking around behind his father's back to get a girl into his room, caught red handed with no explanation.

"Is everything all right?" Ducky asked, raising his eyebrows in part concern, part amusement.

Jethro let go of Jenny's arms and she jerked them back, crossing them across her stomach and swallowing.

"I thought I heard a noise," Jenny said weakly, throwing out the first explanation she could.

It was one of the worst she could have come out with. Jethro gritted his teeth, feeling that he'd obviously failed in his training of her. Ducky looked towards the kitchen and held up his tea with a small smile.

"Just me, I'm sure," he said lightly.

Jenny nodded, pressing her lips together. She refused to look at Jethro and he was physically trying to restrain himself from laughing.

"I thought you'd gone to bed, Ducky," she explained, "I'm sorry."

Ducky shook his head, waving the hand not holding his tea as she had earlier that day.

"Not to worry, Jenny; I understand. You can never be too cautious in our line of work."

Jenny nodded blindly again, biting the inside of her cheek. Jethro cleared his throat rolled his eyes at Ducky as if to say 'women'. Jenny gave him a sharp look. She put on a worried look and glanced between Ducky and him.

"It probably was you, Ducky," she said hesitantly, and Jethro recognized the tone even if Ducky didn't, "but then again, can't be too cautious. Just go check, Jethro," she said, turning to him again and tilting her head towards the stairs.

Ducky didn't see the wicked look in her eyes, but he sure did. She shifted her feet like she was nervous and rubbed her arm.

"Stop being so paranoid, Jen," he responded pointedly.

"Please?"

He groaned and turned, dragging his feet down the stairs with a scowl. If he didn't get laid after this, there was going to be hell to pay for everyone tomorrow. Ducky turned as Jethro marched out the front door and left it cracked open while he stomped around outside. Jenny stepped up to the railing and leaned against it, smiling benignly at Ducky.

"I really am sure it was nothing, my dear," Ducky offered.

Jenny disliked him thinking her so jumpy and worried, but he seemed to be buying the story that she was just afraid of things that go bump in the night.

A few minutes later, Jethro walked back in and slammed the door loudly.

"There's a burglar out by the car. I told him he could have you," he informed Jenny petulantly.

Jenny smirked. Jethro shot Ducky a look and muttered a good night to the medical examiner, then marched back up the stairs and entered his room without a word. The door didn't slam this time; Jenny didn't even hear a click. She realized he'd left it cracked and smiled.

"Are you all right?" Ducky asked. Jenny just nodded and watched as he nodded back to her and turned to shuffle back to the kitchen, sipping his tea peacefully. She hadn't been aware Ducky was such a night owl.

When she heard the faint sound of a chair pulling out in the kitchen, she pushed away from the railing and crept over to Jethro's door, pushing it open with her finger tips and leaning in the doorway. She smiled mischievously. He was sitting up in bed, his arms behind his head, glaring at her moodily.

She shut the door without a sound and walked to the foot of the bed, crawling onto it and over his legs slowly. She leaned forward and kissed him slowly, settling herself on his lap. He snorted when she broke away and slipped his hand along her cheek into her hair.

"Knew you couldn't resist me," he gloated, lifting an eyebrow. Jenny laughed softly.

"You're right," she conceded facetiously, "I can't control myself," she ran her hands up his abdomen to his chest, "Just can't get enough," she bent forward and lowered her mouth to his shoulder.

His muscles clenched when she moaned his name into his skin. He jerked her against him and wrapped his arms around her waist, bunching the silky material of her nightgown in his fingers. He nudged her chin up and kissed her jaw, brushing his lips down her neck.

"Think you can be quiet, Jen?" he asked with a smirk.

She laughed smartly, and ran her hand back down his abdomen. He sucked in his breath sharply.

"I think we should be more concerned about you," she whispered playfully.

* * *


	9. Concealed

_A/N: thanks to a'serene! Kudos to MissJayne for the suggestion (and subsequent information!) on Les Invalides._

_*I must apologize for the long delay in updates--that being said, it's not my fault! My laptop had a meltdown, locked me off of everything, and almost annihilated every document I had saved in the entire run of its existence. It was very stressful and quite disheartening! But everything is functioning now, and my documents are safely backed up!_

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Jenny Shepard was in the middle of sneaking another picture of Jethro as he tried to eat his pasta when his foot hit hers again under the small café table. She clicked the shutter button with a glare just as he caught her in the act and reached out to slap her hands down.

"Stop taking pictures," he ordered.

She rolled her eyes and set the camera down on the table. He immediately picked it up and dropped it in his lap, looking like he'd accomplished something.

"You know if I want that back I'll just come get it," Jenny informed him.

He smirked. She smiled. It probably wasn't all that unwelcome of a threat.

Jenny watched him return his attention to the pasta dish he'd gotten and eyed it enviously before she picked up her sandwich and titled her head to check back with their targets a few tables away and to the left.

They were having lunch in an airy, casual café on the Champs-Elysees, one of the locations listed in their folders as a known meeting place and a pleasant place to be in itself. In her opinion, at least; Jethro had grumbled something about tiny-girly-pansy-restaurants and made her covertly drag him in.

She had to give him credit through; it was the only thing he'd complained about today and she'd been dragging him in shops along the famous street all morning. She wasn't sure he was exactly thrilled with her semi-lecture about the Arc de Triomphe either, but he'd been mostly compliant the whole day.

Jenny concluded that either she needed to wake him up like she had this morning more often or Tuesdays were just really good days for him.

She smirked at the thought and turned her face away from the two clean-cut men they were supposed to be watching. She swallowed a mouthful of her food and picked up her fork, inching it slowly over towards Jethro's plate. He stuck his fork out and stopped her.

She frowned.

"I just want to taste it," she whined.

He rolled his eyes and twisted a hunk of noodles around his fork, holding it up to her with a smirk. She stared at the proffered fork and lifted a disbelieving eyebrow.

"What exactly are you implying?"

"Taste."

"I refuse to eat that off of your fork!"

She narrowed her eyes at him but he just smirked more insolently. He gave her a serious look.

"We have a cover to uphold," he informed her with a completely straight face.

"As Lady and the Tramp?" Jenny retorted, furrowing her eyebrows. He wiggled the fork at her slightly. "Jethro, stop it."

He shrugged smugly and turned the fork towards him, eating his pasta. Jenny scowled. She poked her fork at him menacingly and took a drink of her lemon water, trying to come up with ways to get him back.

Jethro leaned back, resting his arm on the back of his chair, and looked towards their targets, watching them nonchalantly. They looked like two colleagues enjoying a leisurely lunch before heading back to work—which they weren't. They were questionably associated men who had numerous crimes under their respective belts and were being watched by the United States.

Jenny and Jethro looked like nothing more than a couple out to enjoy lunch in the warm weather after a bit of shopping—which they weren't, or at least technically. The lines between her partner and her lover were starting to blur, something Jenny felt she should be paying more attention to, watching more closely, before she got in too deep.

She wasn't, though. She was busy stealing pasta off of said boss/lover's lunch plate while he was doing their job. He turned his head and caught her right as she put the fork in her mouth. She giggled through a mouthful of noodles.

Jethro just gave her an annoyed look. He leaned forward and switched their plates, placing his pasta in front of her and her half-eaten sandwich in front of him. She crinkled her nose at him and smiled.

His foot knocked against hers under the table _again_.

Jenny almost slammed her fork down; it clattered against the pasta plate.

"Are you trying to play footsie with me or are you being an ass?" she demanded, tilting her head and narrowing her eyes.

He turned towards her again and gave her an unreadable look, drawing his foot back. She heard the crinkle of thick paper and something clicked; she glared at him and pointed her finger accusingly.

"You're trying to look in my bag!" she said, reaching down and dragging it back towards her chair protectively. It had, in fact, moved several inches forward.

That was slightly comforting, though, that he had other motives besides footsie. Jenny had hated footsie since fourth grade.

Jethro was feigning innocence.

"What bag?"

She gave him a look.

"You've been trying to see what I bought since we left that boutique," she said primly. He could wonder all he wanted; he wasn't seeing it until a later date known only to her.

"I don't care what you bought," he retorted gruffly, even if the petite size and delicate make of the fancy black bag made him think he should care very much what she had bought. He was counting on something lacy and virtually non-existent.

"No peeking," Jenny said suspiciously, for good measure. She finished off her water and kept a sharp eye on him. He could be a very sneaky, very devious bastard when he was in the mood to be.

After a second of glaring like he really didn't care, he leaned forward and made a grab for it; Jenny gasped in mock horror and kicked him in the calf, thwarting his attempt. He jumped and his knee hit the table, spilling his water all over.

"_Merde_!" he growled in a low voice.

Jenny laughed.

"Of all the French you could learn, you figure out how to say 'shit'?"

He glared and dropped a napkin on the mess, half-heartedly attempting to clean up. Jenny rolled her eyes good-naturedly.

"I'll get it," she said, scooting her chair back and getting up. She glanced around for napkins and such and spotted some, conveniently, by a counter their friends were sitting at. It was an opportunity to overhear some conversation.

She started towards the counter and then stopped, backtracked, and swept up her little black bag, holding it casually over her wrist. She didn't trust him as far as she could throw him not to look.

Jenny came up to the counter and picked up a few napkins, pretending to look over a few sauces as well. The two men were speaking in low, fast French, almost too fast for her to translate; the few words she could catch were dangerous but useless out of context.

_Guns. Materials. Time. Place. Schedule. Execute_.

Jenny chewed on the inside of her lip and tucked a strand of escaped hair behind her ear, setting down a shaker of interesting looking spice. She started to turn when she heard the last half of a clear question, in perfect French, and the attention-grabbing answer.

"…thank our provider profusely."

"_La Grenouille."_

Jenny's fingers slipped on the shaker and she knocked it over, her blood running cold. She set her jaw and closed her eyes briefly.

That couldn't be right.

That's not what he said.

She swallowed hard and righted the shaker, her heart audible in her ears and her breath caught in her throat.

The Frog.

Jenny straightened her shoulders for comfort and performed, in her opinion, a spectacular show of not having heard a word, of not having been paying attention, even, and walked back towards her table with the napkins held limply in her hand.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the two gentlemen getting up to leave, one of them dealing with the boy taking checks. She put the napkins down on the table and started to mop of the table, blinking away her shock and leaning forward.

Jethro's hand wrapped around her wrist.

"Jen?" he questioned, leaning forward to find her face. "You all right?"

She nodded blankly, trying to unstuck her throat, and removed her hand from the table, shaking off his hand gently. He gave her a stern look, his blue eyes studying her face, and she schooled her features expertly.

"You're pale," he commented.

Jenny didn't answer. She glanced at their food, preferring to remain silent even under his alert and suddenly penetrating gaze. He glanced casually over her bent shoulder.

"Did one of them say something to you?" he asked in a low, dangerous voice. She shook her head curtly. She turned slightly and gestured to the _garcon. _

"_Controle, sil vous plait_," she said politely, her voice completely steady. The boy came over instantly, taking something out of his pocket. Jenny reached behind her to her pocket but Jethro grabbed her hand. He gave her a funny look.

"I got it, Jen," he said. She furrowed her brow at him momentarily. Was he supposed to be paying for lunch? She straightened up and nodded.

"I'm going to wait outside," she said quietly, curling her wrist towards her and leaving him to take care of the bill. The whole café was sort of indoors under a pavilion, but she wanted out of the darkened area and into the light.

She stepped into the warm sun, blinking again, putting a hand to her brow and kicking herself for her reaction. It was unbelievable, though, to be confronted with that despicable name—and so soon after the mission started. If it was a coincidence that evil bastard was involved with their criminals, it was a damn good one.

Jenny glanced back in the café and then down the boulevard, stopping when she saw the backs of the men a little ways down, in casual conversation, one of them looking with a sharp eye for a taxi to call.

She wanted to see his face. The one who'd said it. Jethro was going to kill her.

Jenny lifted her chin and walked over to them, forcing her throat to unlock and speaking with cool unconcern.

"_Excusez-moi, Monsieur_,"

He turned coldly, surprised to be spoken to, annoyed to be interrupted—and then didn't look too fussed about it. Well, that was an advantage of her looks. She softened her eyes in a doe-like way and pursed her lips, flicking her eyes as if nervous to the other. She affected American-accented, flawed French and asked:

"I beg your pardon; could you point me towards the Arc de Triomphe?"

He looked highly amused suddenly, no doubt because it was clearly visible above the other structures. Dark, groomed eyebrows went up slightly, cold eyes glinted, and his thin lips curved into a small smirk on his pale face. He turned, gesturing and responding in fluid, silky French.

Jenny feigned embarrassment and nodded, batting her eyelashes and thanking him. The man turned away abruptly, saying something derogatory about pretty American women to his companion, and Jenny moved away.

She almost ran into Jethro, who did indeed look like he was about to throttle her. He gritted his teeth and set his jaw.

"What the hell were you doing?" he asked, taking her arm above the elbow. He turned her away from the departing men and stepped close, cloaking their conversation in the crowds.

Jenny steeled herself.

"Closer look," she said simply. It was plausible, seemingly. "I can identify him easily now."

Jethro's grip on her arm was tight and reprimanding; she didn't react angrily because she knew she was in the wrong and being careless. His eyes narrowed and he put his mouth close to her ear, for the first time in days not in passion.

"Do _not_ approach," he warned sharply. "That wasn't initiative; that was stupid. They can recognize you now."

Jenny nodded shortly and pulled her arm back. He glared at her and she shrugged at him insolently, not in the mood. Her mouth was still dry and she still felt like she couldn't answer him properly.

"What is wrong with you, Jen?" he snapped.

She finally snapped out of it for the time being, loathe losing control or provoking his curiosity and questioning any further.

"Nothing," she said shortly, pushing past him.

He followed her easily through a few people she excused herself to. She stepped off to the side of the avenue, trying to stay out of the way of natives and tourists, part in the shade of a building's awning. She turned to Jethro and pulled two tickets out of her pocket, lifting an eyebrow.

He was still looking at her in annoyance and something like concern, but the sight of the tickets caught his attention and he eyed them warily.

"What are those?"

"Do you want to take a cab or walk to the seventh _arrondissement_?"

He looked suspicious.

"Where are we going?" he asked cautiously.

Jethro did not take pleasure in the idea of seeing a bunch of paintings by old dead guys, and those looked suspiciously like museum tickets. He dreaded being dragged into the Louvre.

Jenny smirked and lifted an eyebrow.

"It was Ducky's idea," she said, placating him and pulling the tickets back against her chest so he couldn't see the words—not that he could read them in French anyway.

He did not look convinced, to her.

Jethro was not convinced. As much as he liked Ducky and trusted the medical examiner, he had an old Englishman's taste and she could very well be tricking him into the ballet. Jenny laughed and lifted her arm, smacking him in the chest with the tickets.

"It'll be worth it, Jethro," she coaxed.

"Walk," he said, giving in. It would give him more time to figure out what was wrong with her, if he could just watch her. Providing she didn't talk too much, or play too much for that matter.

She grinned.

It was getting inexplicably harder to say 'no' to her, anyway.

* * *

Jenny was gloating.

She walked slowly through the _Musee de l'Armee_ at _Les Invalides, _the old retirement home for French war veterans that housed three museums centered on battle and artillery as well as several well-known tombs and a beautiful chapel she wanted to see.

She threw a glance over her shoulder at Jethro and smiled, moving on quietly to the next piece of history, leaving Jethro a few feet away to glare at the same military display he'd been glaring at for twenty minutes. She'd never get him to say it, but he was eating this up.

The place was filled with France's entire military history. Jethro had stopped glowering menacingly and muttering about senseless museums once she'd gotten him past the first museum of Contemporary History, which he hadn't found quite as interesting.

She was content to study the military displays; they were fascinating. She was also content to openly gloat over her triumph in picking a place that wasn't torture for either one of them—thanks to Ducky of course, who'd mildly suggested it over breakfast.

Jenny titled her head up at the gorgeous ceiling, in possession now of her precious black bag and her camera. Jethro had finally given it back, and while she preferred to look instead of shaming herself as a tourist and clicking a camera, she was glad to have it back.

Jethro materialized behind her, pulling her hair off of her shoulders and kissing her below the ear from behind. She shivered and shook her head, turning to give him a look. He smirked and looked over her shoulder, pausing before he brushed past her again. She smiled, following him at her own pace.

He stopped in front of the magnificent sarcophagus, she right next to him, and studied it.

"Napoleon Bonaparte," Jenny said, shifting her weight.

Jethro grunted, walking around the tomb to look. Jenny watched his back appreciatively, tilting her head. She lifted her eyebrow.

"The people's revolutionary turned exiled emperor," she mused, always a fan of the man. "He was a great military leader."

Jethro snorted and looked up.

"He was an ambitious idiot."

Jenny gave him a mildly surprised look.

"Idiot?" she commented.

"He lead troops into Russia in the dead of winter," Jethro pointed out in annoyance, "Military suicide."

Jenny bit her lip and nodded absently, turning to look around the room.

"It wasn't the best choice," she admitted, "but we all make mistakes."

"Ambition made that mistake for him."

"What's your problem with ambition?"

She looked over her shoulder at him and he looked up at her from a part of the sarcophagus he was examining, straightening and walking towards her.

"Makes people forget what's important," he said, grabbing her arm and pulling her towards him with a slight tug. "Do stupid things," he added, dipping his face close to hers and speaking into her lips.

Jenny pressed her palms against his shoulders and shifted, rolling her eyes.

They'd been here for nearly four hours. She supposed that was a huge accomplishment; he'd hardly touched her since they'd walked in. Clearly he was losing his interest in the museum, military or not.

"I want to see the chapel," she said, pushing him away.

He grunted in annoyance.

"You don't like the guns?"

She lowered her voice seductively and raised her eyebrow.

"I love the guns," she said. He smirked and let her precede him towards the chapel she was so eager to see.

The French baroque architecture of the chapel dominated the north courtyard from the outside and, in Jenny's opinion if not Jethro's, was no less impressive from the inside. Reminiscent of St. Peter's Basilica, the artwork and sculpting was beautiful, especially to someone who appreciated it as Jenny did.

She always thought that churches had their own beauty, beauty that came from purity and the message they carried. They were literally sanctuaries and comforting, even to someone like her who hadn't found her way into a church for an actual service for years.

"There are no guns in here," she heard grumbled from behind her.

"Did you make that observation by yourself?" she retorted sarcastically. There were others in the chapel; she kept her voice low.

She could feel him scowling at the back of her head. Jenny stopped in front of the altar, roped off at the stairs. She looked up at the larger-than-life crucifix locked in place and thought briefly of her father. He'd been religious; had always regretted that she wasn't. She felt a twinge of guilt and anger.

Jethro pulled her to the side a little to make room for a few other tourists and she apologized quietly. He continued to tug at her, and she found herself being dragged over to the side, in an alcove by the altar stairs.

He pulled her close.

"Seen enough?"

She poked him in the chest.

"You, Jethro, could use some religion," she stated, lifting an eyebrow.

He laughed and tightened his arms around her waist, ignoring her squirm of protest. The bridge of her nose flushed and he leaned forward to kiss her exposed throat, figuring they were in the shadows and off to the side enough not to be noticed.

Jenny squirmed again.

"You ever had a religious experience, Jen?" he asked in her ear.

"No…" she answered slowly, quirking her eyebrow unseen, unsure where he was going with this.

He grinned.

"Want me to give you one?"

"Jethro!" she hissed, rather loudly. She tried to push him back, her hands on his abdomen between them. "We are in a _church_!"

He shrugged, but did not succeed in pulling her back against him. She planted her feet and placed her hands solidly against his stomach, holding him at arm's length and glancing around. As of yet, they weren't being stared at.

"Religious experience," she snorted, giving him a smirk, "you think you're God now?"

That actually didn't surprise her one bit.

She stumbled backwards against the wall and muffled a giggle in his jacket, her hands slipping down his sides. Jenny stopped abruptly when her hand brushed against something hard. She ran her hand over the contour through his clothing and looked up at him sharply.

Apparently there were guns in the chapel.

"I'm not allowed to break the rules but you are?" she asked quietly, all seriousness now.

He gave her a blank look, warning her not to push it. She was going to anyway.

"We don't have authorization to carry weapons here, Jethro," she said sharply, "what if you get caught with that?"

"You didn't even know I was carrying until you felt it," he pointed out plausibly.

Jenny narrowed her eyes. He'd berated her outside the café for approaching a target when that was taboo, and he was risking arrest by carrying an unauthorized weapon. She wrapped her fingers around the handle of his SIG under his jacket, shimmying it out to glance. He grabbed her hand and gave her a deadly look, stepping closer. Slowly, he pushed her fingers off of the gun and replaced it securely.

"Not a good idea, Jen," he said.

"Packing heat isn't exactly brilliant either," she hissed back.

She felt wary enough without her weapon; it wasn't right of him to carry concealed and refuse to let her do the same. She had better ways of hiding a gun anyway.

"If you think I'm walking around an unfamiliar city tracking terrorist unarmed, think again," he growled.

"Then don't you dare chew me out for ignoring regs, either."

"That was different," he growled. Approaching the people they were _covertly_ spying on defeated the purpose.

"You could carry a knife," she pointed out sharply. Her eyes glinted. "You do have a knife on you, Jethro?" she asked suddenly.

He paused, keeping silent.

"Rule nine," she reprimanded, pushing him away.

He caught her arm at the shoulder and pulled her back, giving her a rough kiss. Her eyes flew open and she pulled away, glancing around furiously. She was faced with a few lifted eyebrows and disapproving looks.

"What the hell—"

"I thought you said you liked guns, Jen," he challenged, ignoring her indignant outburst.

She narrowed her eyes angrily and then smirked, turning away. He came up behind her and slipped and arm around her waist, brushing an argument to the side with the careless wandering of his hand. His concealed SIG pressed against her hip.

She didn't know why it got to her, his carrying against regulations. It was typical of Jethro; she knew it was his way of protecting himself and her, and it was probably smart. But something about it bothered her. Without her own weapon, she'd have to rely on him if something went wrong.

She trusted him to have her back. _Expected_ him too. Laying her safety in his hands, having no control over her fate in a situation…that was a different. It was relying on him in a way she didn't think she could yet. Not because she didn't trust him, but because she feared the emotional implications.

Jethro dragged her out of the chapel, back towards the military displays. Jenny pushed the thoughts to the back of her mind. She turned towards him and pulled him closer at his belt loops, threading her thumbs through.

Jenny cocked her eyebrow teasingly.

"Carrying any _other_ concealed weapons for me to play with?"

**

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	10. Off the Grid

_A/N: thanks to a'serene! It's back to school for me this very day:/_

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Jenny Shepard closed her cell phone silently and looked at it, pressing her lips together. She turned around in the decorative sitting room and looked out the window to their suburban street, visible through the translucent curtains in the fading daylight.

She ran her thumb over the screen on her phone, thinking. Ducky was cooking something in the kitchen that smelled delicious and she didn't know where Jethro was; she'd hazard a guess at the shower.

The Director had sounded busy and distracted on the phone; he was no doubt swamped with work. They were out of the loop on news in America, but his job was a never-ending cycle of stress. Morrow had listened a little more intently when she'd told him to watch the arms community more closely.

She couldn't give names or sources, just her gut. She didn't even mention the name she'd heard and it was a miracle Morrow had given her credit at all. Contact was supposed to be minimal and here she was bending the rules again because of an obsession she tried to stomp to the back of her mind.

It probably hadn't been a good idea to contact Decker, either. He'd seemed surprised and yet relieved to hear from her, but she'd had to deal with Kasey when it came to a description of the man she saw. Kasey, as usual, was bitter, and seemed to think Jenny was having as hard a time as she with her partner. Jenny had to be all but rude to get Olivia to shut-up about Decker's imperfections and pay attention to the information she was risking.

Jethro would hit the roof if he knew.

She heard footfalls behind her and turned to intercept the person sneaking up behind her. Speak of the devil; Jethro stood in the doorway, his hair still wet, one arm braced against the frame. She closed her fingers over the phone, shielding it.

"Have a nice shower?" she asked, crossing her arms across her chest.

"It could've been better."

Jenny smiled.

"Yes, but then you wouldn't have gotten clean," she responded, raising her eyebrow. She smirked and walked towards him, heading for the hallway to the kitchen. He slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her back.

"_Jen_," he protested. She closed her eyes and shivered at his proximity. She knew exactly how he felt. Ducky was hovering; they couldn't just mysteriously disappear.

"I wouldn't mind being dirty," he said quietly.

"I don't like it when you're dirty."

He pulled her closer and spun her against him, bending down to draw his lips over the material of her shirt.

"Yes you do," he corrected suggestively in her ear.

"Mmm," Jenny murmured, leaning back into him. He pulled her backwards into the hall and towards the stairs; she planted her feet, and listened carefully to Ducky moseying around in the kitchen.

"How many times do I have to say 'no'?" she whispered, trying to pull away.

Stupid male; he didn't realize she was just as frustrated as him. She just handled it more maturely.

"One more time,"

"Will it make a difference?"

He smirked into her hair.

"No," he answered mockingly, imitating her stern denial. He tugged at her around the middle and she suppressed a giggle as he managed to get her up two steps before she stopped him.

"No!"

"_Yes_."

"Jethro…"

"Jenny…" he mocked warningly.

Ducky started humming loudly in the kitchen and Jethro pulled her head back into his shoulder by her loose hair. He did look pitiably tortured.

"Just a quickie?"

Ten minutes later she was sitting in the kitchen watching, Ducky pour sauce over the meat he was cooking, her cheeks only slightly flushed and her hair in a neat ponytail, looking quite like nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

"My dear, would you mind helping me with the dinnerware?" the M.E. asked, looking up at her with a warm smile.

Jenny nodded and pushed her chair backwards, getting up just as Jethro walked in, completely straight-faced. Training as an agent helped her keep her composure but she still couldn't resist the pert wink she gave him before turning towards the cabinets to comply with Ducky's request.

"Smells good, Duck."

"Yes, well, I thought it might be nice for poor Jenny here to have some real food. I can imagine being subjected to take-out or a thrown together dinner night after night isn't her first choice," Ducky answered, smiling at Jenny.

She laughed as she shut the cabinet and set the plates on the counter for him. They had been eating at odd hours since they'd gotten here, at first because their times were still mixed-up and then because sometimes in the mix it was easy to forget to eat. Jethro's solution, as always, was something easy and Jenny never really complained.

"What is it?" Jenny asked, leaning over Ducky to look at the pan.

"Ah, the French name is _Coq au vin_," he said, taking a plat from her, "but we'll call it Red Wine Rooster."

He handed Jenny a plate and gestured to the cooling stove.

"One of mother's old recipes; she hardly remembers it now. Snap peas are on the back burner."

Jenny had no idea Ducky was a cook. She drew a fork out of one of the drawers and got some snap peas. She sat down across from Jethro at the table and smiled sweetly, forking a few of the greens and putting them in her mouth.

"Are you waiting for me to get you a plate?" she whispered conspiratorially, pointing her utensil at him and smirking.

He got up and retrieved his own food. She didn't think he was _really_ waiting to be served, but it was funny to poke at his pride by teasing him about it.

Ducky was the last to sit down, bringing with him his plate and a bottle of wine. He offered it to them all, but Jenny held up her hand and waved it away. She got up and filled herself a cup of water instead.

"Wine makes me sleepy," she said, sitting back down.

She didn't want to be tired tonight.

"Ducky, this is fantastic," she praised.

Ducky beamed, and thanked her. Conversation was lax during dinner while they ate; Ducky inquired about the excursion to Les Invalides and mentioned seeing one of their targets in the heart of Paris when he'd been visiting a friend.

"I believe, thought I couldn't be quite sure, I saw Agent Kasey in the crowds as well," he said, musing.

"Kasey's working Law Enforcement," Jenny said. "She and Decker are more in the open than us. He's handling her cover; she's working with French police."

Ducky looked surprised at this information.

"I wasn't aware you knew the nature of their assignment," he said.

"We know a general idea," Jethro said. "Though they think we're doing the same as them."

"Ah," Ducky nodded.

Jenny bit her lip at the look Jethro gave her across the table. She'd inappropriately said too much about their colleague's assignment. Decker and Kasey's job was more open than theirs; the French government was, from what she could gather, aware of their presence and cooperating. They were handling the investigations of the same people as Jenny and Jethro, drawing the targets' attention away from silent watchers.

It was why Jenny had contacted Kasey about the man she'd approached. Kasey and Decker had access to more information than she did about him.

"…after Harper was fired,"

Jenny perked up at Decker's words, raising her eyebrows.

"Harper was fired?" she asked, clearly remembering the Forensic Tech and Jethro's intense hatred of him.

"Oh yes," Ducky said solemnly, drinking from his glass, "He botched a very high profile case, apparently a slip up in a long line of careless mistakes and the Director was forced to let him go."

Jethro looked vindictively thrilled.

"It's about time," he grumbled, stabbing his meat vehemently. "We'll get more done without that lazy bastard running the lab."

Jenny was the only one who ever got—probably tortured—results out of him anyway, and the 'how' of that accomplishment of hers Jethro had never questioned properly. He figured it was best if he didn't know.

"Fiona must be thrilled," Jenny sighed. The blonde's one complaint about her work was Harper's incessant habit of hitting on her.

"Fiona left us before Harper was fired. She graduated from my tutelage," Ducky informed her.

Jenny raised her eyebrows and smiled.

"Then I'm afraid she defected," he added with a small smile, looking at Jethro.

Jethro looked up and caught Ducky's eye before his eyes narrowed suddenly and he gave his friend an annoyed look.

"She didn't join the—"

"FBI."

"Fornell," growled Jethro petulantly.

Jenny giggled at her partner's indignation. She remembered how the FBI agent had taken to Fiona during the case they worked together. He'd been beyond amused by her constant singing.

"Federal bunch of idiots…" Jethro muttered under his breath, and Jenny laughed disbelievingly.

"Oh, Jethro come on," she placated, rolling her eyes. He just gave her a dark look.

"They steal everything!" he protested.

Jenny raised an eyebrow.

"Agent Langer went FBI," Jethro offered moodily, "Turncoat," he muttered, thinking of the green agent he'd been working with for a short time just before Jenny showed up.

"You hated Langer," Jenny pointed out, rolling her eyes.

"That is not the point," Jethro growled. "Thieves."

Ducky cleared his throat with a curious look on his face, almost like he was trying to look sad while really highly amused underneath.

"There is ah, something else Tobias seems to have...taken a fancy to," Ducky said slowly, his eyes glinting mischievously.

Jethro, still grumbling, didn't respond right away; he was too busy muttering about the damn Hoover building and the armed agency food chain. Then Ducky's words seemed to register and he looked up suspiciously, and glared at Jenny like she was going to up and join the FBI in front of him.

"Oh, no, not Jennifer," Ducky said quickly, sensing a lecture. "Though the hair color is right."

Jenny had never actually seen Jethro look shocked, and the priceless moment ended in a split second. Then he narrowed his eyes, looking at Ducky in sheer disbelief, his blue eyes flashing.

"_No_."

Ducky smiled indulgently.

"Diane?" Jethro snapped.

Jenny raised her eyebrows skeptically and then widened her eyes when Ducky nodded in confirmation. She lost it; she burst out laughing, while Jethro touched the side of his head gingerly with a grimace.

"He can have her," he grumbled balefully.

It took Jenny a few minutes to recover from her cackling outburst. She snorted at the moodily look Jethro gave her and tilted her head at him, reaching across to pick up his wine glass and wave it in front of him.

"Is your head hurting?" she asked, pouting mockingly.

There were so many things she could say to Diane _now_ to curl the woman's toes.

Ducky laughed good-naturedly.

"I really am sorry to be the bearer of bad news—"

"Ducky, this is _hilarious_," Jenny interrupted, muffling another batch of giggles as Jethro snatched his wine glass away and glared at her.

He hadn't mentioned Diane since Jenny had seen her at NCIS before they left for London. He did have a right to be bitter towards the women who'd not only whacked him in the skull with a golf club but also cleaned out his bank account.

"Someone should warn him," Jethro muttered darkly, stabbing his food even more viciously.

"Hush and eat your peas," Jenny ordered gleefully.

She continued to antagonize him about it through dinner, spurred on by the amused look on Ducky's face at her daring. She didn't care how vicious his glares got or how annoyed and rude his responses became; she'd wipe that bitch's name from his mind later tonight.

* * *

It was almost pitch black and freezing in the room when Leroy Jethro Gibbs woke up in the middle of the night, his eyesight blurry and half-aware in the dark. He groggily attempted to pull sheets around him without success; they were all twisted and gathered around his legs. He rolled over with searching hands, attempting to find Jenny and drag her warmth towards him—only to discover she wasn't there.

Blinking rapidly and opening his eyes wide to let them adjust, he leaned up and looked over her place in his bed, glancing over his shoulder at the bathroom door. He could make out that it was open, and the light wasn't on. The sheets where she'd been were cool; she'd been absent for a while.

Jethro sat up and rubbed his forehead, alert in a matter of seconds. He felt around for some form of clothing and left the room, silently walking down the hall to hers. It didn't make sense that she would leave; yet there were no lights visible from downstairs to suggest she was there. He opened her door soundlessly and flipped on the light.

No Jenny.

Completely awake and starting to get annoyed, he went down the stairs and checked the kitchen even though his gut already told him she wasn't here, and he didn't know where the hell she could be at half past two in the morning.

He flipped on all the lights and stormed back up the stairs, snatching his cell phone and dialing her number. No answer; it rang off the hook. His blood ran cold and he tossed the phone into the headboard violently, half-angry and half concerned.

He was almost at the bottom of the staircase again when Ducky's door opened and he peered out sleepily, looking concerned.

"Jethro, what is all the noise about?" he asked quietly.

"Have you seen Jenny?" Jethro demanded sharply, ignoring the question.

Ducky shook his head slowly, his brow furrowing.

"Did you check her room?" the older man asked.

He probably should have found it odd that Ducky would assume Jenny wasn't sleeping in her room, but he was too distracted to pick up on it. He just nodded curtly and whipped around. Ducky left his door open and followed, tying his bathrobe with a concerned look.

"Perhaps she's outside," he suggested, "getting some air."

"You don't think I checked?" Jethro growled nastily, turning in the kitchen doorway and bracing his arms against the frame.

Ducky crossed his arms, his eyes filling with worry. They were both thinking the same thing; she was out, alone, unreachable in an unfamiliar city without back up. Jethro in particular was distressed, considering the stunt she pulled in the café a few days ago.

"Where the hell is she?" he growled viciously, brushing past Ducky and going for the door. He had it open when Ducky caught up and stopped him, resting his hand on the door.

"Jethro, Paris is immense, you can't think you'll find her if you go looking?" he said in disbelief.

Jethro gave him an immovable look, his blue eyes like steel.

"Let's rethink this. Jennifer wouldn't just go off the grid in the middle of the night; she's a smart woman," Ducky protested, sounding only a little unconvinced.

"Don't put it past her," Jethro snapped lividly. Ducky still prevented him from leaving.

"At least put clothes on," he said.

Jethro glanced down at his boxers and frayed t-shirt and slammed the door shut with a force, causing Ducky to flinch. He took out his frustration on everything in the bedroom, slamming drawers shut and throwing things unnecessarily.

What the hell was she _thinking_?

Dressed in seconds and holding the car keys between his teeth, a thought occurred to him suddenly and he barged back into her little-used room, yanking open the drawer where she kept her SIG.

Empty.

_Damn_ her.

Ducky came out of the kitchen when Jethro re-appeared in the hall, wearing Jenny's fedora and searching for his jacket. He picked it up off of the banister and started slipping it on, dialing her number again on his phone. He fought the urge to break it in half when she didn't answer again; latching onto the anger he was feeling in order not to let the fear take over.

He dropped the keys from his mouth to his palm and turned towards the door just as he heard Ducky utter a sigh of relief.

She stood in the doorway, one hand on the doorknob, clenched tightly, her lips compressed and her eyes betraying her thoughts of being caught red handed.

He stared at her in complete, bitterly charged silence for a full ten seconds before he lost it.

* * *

Doctor Donald Mallard stood quietly in his room, looking out the window into the darkened streets, eerie in the glow of streetlamps, listening to the muffled screaming coming from the kitchen.

He cringed at the sound of fighting; Jethro hadn't stopped shouting since Jennifer walked back in and she had been quick to add her own voice to the shrieking match. He hadn't listened to it for more than five minutes before disappearing back into his room behind a closed door while they stood ten feet apart yelling at each other.

Jenny was in the wrong; there was no doubt about that. Ducky couldn't imagine what she'd been thinking; stealing off like that considering the nature of their assignment, but Jethro was out of control. He was one to typically treat stupidly with short reprimands and cold silence, not heated shouting matches.

Ducky wasn't sure what was between those two; he didn't know if they had crossed the line of platonic partners or if they were just stomping all over it and refusing to go past it, but they were interesting to watch in their actions and words.

He had no place to judge, or to even say a word, and he never would ask, but Ducky was concerned for their professionalism. Whatever was between them was volatile, if it wasn't sexual Ducky had no doubt it would be soon and if it already was, he couldn't see how it would end well.

Ducky clicked his tongue and turned away from the window and edging cautiously towards the door. It sounded as if the battle had quieted a little. Alas, he was wrong. Another round of yelling burst from the hall, followed by the shattering of glass.

Ducky sincerely hoped he wouldn't have to patch up Jethro again.

* * *

Jethro turned and grabbed a dishtowel from the sink; Jenny cursed loudly and closed her eyes, her shoulders stiffening and her color draining quickly.

He stepped carefully to avoid the broken shards of glass and sat her down in a kitchen chair roughly, leaning against the table and pulling her cut and bloodied hand towards him. He rested it on his knee, holding the dishtowel in his hands and looking distastefully at the shards of glass wedged in her skin.

"Dammit, Jenny," he swore.

She opened her bright, angry emerald eyes and looked at the damage, the remnants of the glass she'd shattered when she'd smashed it violently against the table.

Jethro hesitated just briefly and pinched the edge of one shard delicately, drawing out of her flesh slowly. She hissed at the pain and closed her eyes again, breathing evenly.

"It's better to seek forgiveness than ask permission," she said shortly, still fighting with him even through her haze of pain. She fought back a cry as he pulled out another piece of glass and opened her eyes.

He glared at her violently and grit his teeth, his jaw set.

The shattering of the glass had ended the shouting, but he was still furious with her. He pulled back the dishtowel, dropped a shard of glass on the table, and examined the last small piece embedded in her hand.

She refused to tell him where she'd been, maintaining it had been an innocent walk. He wasn't fooled for a damn second; there was something about her face when she lied, something he hadn't quite pinpointed that let him know she wasn't being truthful. Shouting did nothing to draw it out of her; she fought back viciously, called him controlling and sexist and infuriatingly holding her own.

She made a _point_, even.

But she smelled of smoke and musk; scents like that didn't come from innocent walks.

He pressed his thumb into her palm where the cuts were not present, applying pressure to take some of the pain out of what he had to do to maneuver the last piece out. He looked up at her sharply, swallowing hard to avoid shouting again.

"How am I supposed to know if you're in trouble or just _walking_," he spat the word derisively, "if you go prancing out into the city in the dead of night?"

She didn't answer.

"Hold still," he warned coldly, bracing her arm and grasping the glass between his thumb and forefinger, covered in the dishtowel. He pulled quickly and she jerked reflexively, gasping through set teeth. Her eyes watered and she lowered her head, blinking rapidly.

"God," she said, her fingers curling slightly.

Jethro got up and brushed the glass on the floor into a pile with his boot, running the dishtowel under cold water and getting a few cubes of ice from the fridge. He crouched down in front of her and wiped off the blood, spreading her hand out on her knee, placing the ice in her hand and curling her fingers around it.

She winced.

"Ducky can look at that tomorrow," he said shortly, studying her closely.

Her hair fell around her face prettily; her clothes were dark and inconspicuous. She was wearing tennis shoes and he'd already discerned her SIG was concealed at her lower back and very well, at that.

He shut his mouth against the recurring flare of anger at her and put his hand on her knee, having already shouted everything he could possible shout to get her to realize her complete stupidity and lack of good judgment.

"What's gotten into you, huh, Jen? You think you're going above and beyond?" he asked bitterly.

His only explanation for this was interwoven with her earlier initiative in approaching one of their targets; like she was getting ahead of the game, trying to impress him or someone. She didn't have to do anything anymore to impress him.

"Why are you such a self-righteous bastard?" she asked quietly.

He ground his teeth together.

"If you _ever_ pull a stunt like this again, Jen," he stopped, letting the threat hang.

Now he was just content that she was back unscathed, other than the self-inflicted injury to her hand. She glared at him, challenging and hard, silent as the grave.

He couldn't gauge what she was thinking behind those sharp green eyes, but he was seeing a whole different side to her. Part blind ambition and part reckless brutality, a combination that had potential to make her one of the best—which she already was.

He'd underestimated her, even after she'd shown him he shouldn't. Whatever she'd been doing, it had a purpose. There was something in her as guarded and untouchable as in him.

Jenny moved her hand slowly and dropped the melting ice cubes on the table, pressing her cold, jagged palm against his cheek.

"I don't need your permission for _anything_," she said softly, meaning every word, and he chose not to point out that he was the senior agent, he was literally in control here; he didn't even fuss that she was using his rules against him.

He taught them for a reason.

She paused and ran her hand over the stubble on his chin and his lips.

"I'll seek forgiveness," she said, and it was the closest thing he figured he'd get to remorse.

Whatever she'd done tonight, she didn't regret it and she wouldn't ever divulge it.

His eyes flashed with rage again and he stiffened, his skin crawling, fighting another urge to pick up the shouting match again.

"You don't care if you get it," he growled sharply, and stood up, pushing off of her knee.

She stood up abruptly and grabbed his shirt collar, pulling him close. She looked him in the eye defiantly.

"Sorry," she murmured flippantly. No doubt she was sorry. She was sorry she'd been caught; if she'd come home just thirty minutes earlier no one would have been the wiser.

She waited for the inevitable response before she dragged him forward by his collar and kissed him, channeling the left over rage burning beneath their skin into the only way they ever dealt with it anymore.

"Don't apologize."

* * *

_My Dad refers to the FBI as the 'Federal Bunch of Idiots'..._


	11. the Moment

_Thanks to aserene!  
Note: The scene in the city is loosely based on S3Ep "Probie" Paris Flashback._

**

* * *

**

"Jethro…"

Jenny's hair fell over his face, tickling his mouth and filling his senses with the scent of her shampoo. He grunted and moved his hand. Satisfied that he touched bare skin, he refused to wake up.

"Jethro…" she whispered again, shifting on top of him.

He kept his eyes firmly shut. Jenny frowned. She leaned forward and brushed her lips along his jaw swiftly, kissing the corner of his mouth.

"Jethro, wake up…I want to play…"

He opened his eyes. She giggled softly.

Jenny straightened up and lifted her eyebrow at him. Jethro blinked and stared at her, trying to figure out if he was still dreaming or not. She smirked. He moved his hand on her leg, down past her knee, and his hand snagged against silk ribbons of what he could now see were dark emerald green stilettos.

And the rest of her matched, right down to a garishly placed bow in her curled and perfumed hair.

Jethro pushed himself up on his elbows, ignoring the look of superiority on her face, and drank in the lace and silk lingerie, dark green to highlight her eyes and perfectly complementing to her crimson hair.

Apparently, Christmas had come early.

"See something you like?" she asked mildly, her mouth curling into a knowing smile.

"What's the occasion?" he asked, deciding it would only be polite to give her face a look before he continued objectifying her.

Not that she needed an occasion. He was perfectly fine with being woken up like this every morning.

Jenny smirked and ran her hands up his torso, leaning down over him and slipping her hands under the pillow behind his head. She kissed him quickly and tucked her head under his chin, kissing his neck and his shoulder. Casually, she slid a hand down his arm and laced her fingers into his, drawing his arm up over his head and pressing it into the headboard.

"A little _bird_ told me it was your birthday," she said softly.

He tried to recall the date, which was increasingly hard to do when she was being so generous with her mouth.

"Ducky," he growled, knowing exactly which bird would have spilled the beans.

He didn't like attention paid to him on his birthday. It was generally annoying, forced, and just a reminder that he didn't have any reason to celebrate. He wasn't sure he wanted her making a big deal about it, considering he didn't know when her's was in case she expected reciprocation. Jenny nodded her head and tilted it, brushing her hair over her shoulder and smiling at him.

"We're going to celebrate," she said.

He struggled up and she settled on his lap, the bow in her hair titled comically as she looked at him expectantly.

"It's just another day, Jen," he said gruffly.

Jenny pursed her lips in mock displeasure. She shoved his hand back into the headboard harder and lifted her shoulders.

"Fine," she sighed, "if that's how you feel. I'll just go put my clothes back on…"

He wrapped his free arm around her middle and secured her where she was.

"That's what I thought," she said smugly, and clasped something cold around his wrist.

Giving her a wary look, Jethro turned his head to find her snapping the other half of a pair of silver handcuffs around the bedpost, locking his arm in place. She trailed her fingers down over his wrist and smirked at him when he glared at her, managing to look incredibly innocent.

"Jen," he warned.

"Have you ever been cuffed before, Jethro?" she asked, ignoring his mutinous look.

He jerked at the handcuffs in response and fixed her with a glare. She twitched her nose at him arrogantly, ignoring his look. Jenny took his other hand and pulled it towards her, kissing his knuckles provocatively.

"I promise you'll like it," she purred. She shifted in his lap. He held her tighter.

"Don't look so suspicious," she soothed, leaning into him tightly so her fancy lingerie touched his skin. He shook her hand off and ran his hand down her side, touching soft silk until the material ended and her skin was bare again.

There wasn't much to what she was wearing.

"You're my present?" he asked, arching an eyebrow.

His hand lingered at the ribbons on the top bit of the lingerie. He pulled the edge of a bow slowly and Jenny smirked, slipping a hand behind him. She tilted his head back against the head board and kissed him senseless.

She moved and knelt over him, pulling back as she reached behind her. From the ribbons lacing up her ankles she pulled a key on a thin string and held it in front of him, presumably for the handcuffs.

She dropped it around her neck and the small silver key settled right at her cleavage. Jethro's hand went to her hips. She bent and kissed him again, stuck her tongue down his throat; it was both annoying and interesting that he could only touch her with one hand.

She kissed along his jaw again, his stubble tickling her lips, and bit his ear gently, smirking when he shivered. His hand gripped her around the waist tightly. Between them, in what space there was, her hand fell to his boxers.

"You can have anything you want, Jethro," she said sweetly, her breath sending shivers down his spine. "Lapdance? Massage? Shower?" she trailed off and slipped her hand beneath his boxers, waiting for his telltale gasp of breath. "Something else?"

She kissed him again. She tasted so good. She was intoxicating and painfully teasing; she rendered him speechless and thoughtless. She whispered in his ear, destroyed his senses, lavished sinful affection on him and kept him on edge until he was covered in sweat and pulling her hair so hard it was a miracle she hadn't complained.

"Jen…" he said hoarsely, thrusting against her.

With considerable self-restraint, she refrained from making a sound. He disentangled his hand from her hair and stroked her neck, his fingers falling to her cleavage to find the silver key. He lifted it up over her head and she snatched it from him.

She smirked and leaned against him to access his cuffed hand, excruciatingly slow in her movements. He kissed what parts of her he could reach and attempted to violently get rid of the silky lingerie, finally tired of it.

She'd probably be annoyed about that rip in the lace later.

The clasp around his wrist loosened and he wrapped the now-free arm around her shoulders. She squealed when he threw her off of him and pulled her under him, the key still in her closed palm when he pinned her arms over her head.

He pulled the rest of the lingerie out of the way and thrust into her, holding her wrists tightly, kissing her from the neck up to her wicked mouth. Her heels scraped against his back and she arched into him, moaning.

He covered her mouth with his, groaned her name against her lips, forced her to chase him to the edge and collapsed with her. He rolled over and pulled her with him, pushing her hair off of her face and tucking it behind her ears. Jenny gripped his shoulders and closed her eyes, touching her forehead to his, trying to catch her breath.

She giggled.

Jethro shifted, running his hands over her spine and then folding them behind his head, looking smug. Out of the corner of his eye, by the bathroom door, he caught sight of a familiar looking fancy black bag. Ah. That explained the no-looking policy.

Jenny kissed his chest playfully, breathing him in, digging her hands into the sheets behind his shoulders. She shifted back and tilted her head at him, the wrinkled and mussed bow in her hair bringing a smirk to his face.

"Do I get a thank you?" she asked smartly.

His response was to remove a hand from behind his head and pull the bow out of her hair. He put it between his teeth and grinned at her.

"Jethro," she admonished softly, kissing him lightly between words, "you really should show appreciation for your gifts."

"I just _did_," he responded arrogantly, running his hand over her back again. She sighed and her eyes closed slightly under his touch.

Jenny pulled the ribbon out of his mouth and draped it around her neck.

"Happy Birthday, you arrogant prick."

Jethro smirked and flipped her over, her shriek of laughter music to his ears. He pressed her back into the pillows again and attacked her mouth, determined to take advantage of this. If she was going to relinquish herself to his mercy because of a simple date, he was resigned to acknowledging that birthdays definitely needed to be celebrated.

* * *

In honor of his birthday—which Jethro had finally admitted in a grumble that it was—Jenny had managed to acquire him a cup of genuine Jamaican blend from a coffee shop she's spotted on her late-night jaunt a few nights ago. Not that she'd be telling Jethro that, or ever bringing up that incident again for that matter.

She's also purchased him enough Jamaican coffee beans to successfully shut him up for a few weeks about the lack of good coffee in Europe. He was still pretending to brood and glower over the attention but he seemed content, even though they were technically working at the moment.

If you could call it that.

Jenny was moseying around in a shop, or rather what was a little open area composed of lots of little cute places to buy things. Jethro was keeping on her from behind and she hadn't called him on it yet because she'd decided to indulge him. They were in the very busy center of the city.

Jenny straightened up from looking at a snow globe clearly targeted at tourists and turned around. She bumped into Jethro, which was unavoidable since he'd come up right behind her. She gave him a mild glare.

"If you do that one more time, I will knock that cup of coffee to the floor."

"It's my birthday," he protested, smirking.

"Why is it only your birthday if it suits you?" she shot back, arching an eyebrow.

"Because."

"Spectacularly well formed and eloquent answer, Jethro," she answered, with a roll of her eyes.

He snorted and leaned over her shoulder to look at the table lined with an assortment of garish tourist items, from picture frames to the snow globes Jenny had been looking at to classic I-heart-Paris t-shirts.

Jenny nudged him in the shoulder. He nudged her back.

"Oh, look," Jenny lifted up a t-shirt and held it up in front of her. "They have your size."

He gave her a stern look.

"No."

"But it's your size!"

"I wouldn't be caught dead in that."

"Don't be such a girl. You need a souvenir."

"Jen—"

She turned around and draped the t-shirt over her arm, set on buying it. She smiled over her shoulder at him and sauntered over to another table. He followed her and stood silently at her side before attempting to tug the shirt away. She secured it against her side and elbowed him in the ribs.

Jenny turned to him and patted him patronizingly on the chest.

"Relax, Jethro, I won't make you wear it out," she soothed, smiling at the annoyed look on his face. "You can wear it to bed."

He did not look convinced. He glared and tried to take it from her again. She sighed, a small smile on her face.

"I'll wear it to bed," she offered, "and _only_ it."

He paused in his tugging and released the shirt with a wary look. He had the sneaking feeling he'd end up in it before this mission was over, and made a mental note to remove all cameras from the vicinity if that happened.

Jenny had a weird habit of taking random pictures.

She smiled smugly and turned to the table she was looking at. There were strange beaded items everywhere. Jethro concluded they were female things and lost interest, deciding instead to lean against the table and pull Jenny towards him. He played with her hair while she looked at the beaded things.

Jethro pulled her hair, earning a squeak of surprise as her head tilted towards him. She pulled back and glared at him, picking up a coin purse from the table and whacking him in the back of the head with it.

He grabbed her wrist and forced her to drop the coin purse, yanking her around in front of him. Jenny wriggled away easily and turned towards the next table, giving him a teasing look over her shoulder. Jethro watched and then pushed off the table, picking his coffee cup up and creeping up behind her in the hopes she'd turn and run into him again.

He was not disappointed. Lifting something in her fingers, Jenny turned around and smacked into his chest. He grinned smugly and she glared at him, reaching menacingly for his coffee. He jerked it back, afraid she'd make good on her threat to spill it. She grabbed his arm and settled for stealing it instead.

Jethro looked with dismay at the lipstick mark on the rim and she took the opportunity to push him back a little and hold up her hand. He looked at the silver chain draped around her fingers and the flashy, sequined butterfly pendent on the necklace.

"This is hideous," Jenny said brightly.

Silently, he agreed. It was orange and purple, bulky, and not at all in keeping with the idea that the French possessed everything elegant. Jenny looked at the butterfly necklace thoughtfully and then back at Jethro, holding it up a little more.

"It would look lovely on Stan," she mused wickedly, switching it to the hand that held the t-shirt and arching an eyebrow at Jethro. He smirked and took a drink of his coffee, choosing to make no comment. Jenny had it in for Stan Burly.

Jenny disappeared in the direction of someone to pay for her items and Jethro made sure he could see her through the pavilions and such. It was sometime after noon; Jenny had grudgingly suggested they do a little work to compensate for the last day days which had consisted of inactivity.

It was warm outside, thought not hot like it tended to be in America. In fact it would be cooling down for fall in Paris before America realized it was time to get cold. Jethro made a face at the feel of lipstick on his coffee cup and shifted to a clean part of the rim.

He noticed suddenly that Jenny's head had vanished. He squinted in the direction he'd last seen her in and then looked around cautiously. He gritted his teeth, determined to kick her ass if she'd run off again.

"Looking for me?" a voice asked in his ear.

He jumped. Jenny giggled as he turned around to glare at her, thankfully still holding an unspilt cup of coffee. A small bag was looped around her wrist. She looked quite pleased with herself.

She rose up on her tiptoes and wriggled her nose at him. At first he thought she was going to kiss him but she just tilted her head and leaned into his ear.

"Don't look; to the left among the easels." She whispered casually.

Nodding slightly, he didn't look in that direction until she settled back and turned. He followed her in the general direction of where she'd indicated and surveyed the area calmly. One of their targets appeared to be the vendor of the caricature stand, dressed in a cliché white and black shirt and complementary beret.

"Recognize the woman?" Jenny asked in a low voice.

"She was at the bar. Unidentifiable," Jethro answered.

"If she's popped up twice, we better get on identifying her," Jenny murmured, before grasping his arm tightly and breaking into a delighted smile.

She pulled him in among the easels and started looking at them with her bright smile, clearly acting the part of a thrilled tourist. She laced her arm through his and clung to him, starting to chatter.

He stared at the top of her head, slightly put off by the behavior. Even if she was taking a hell of a lot of attention off of them by acting like a moron, it was so uncharacteristic of Jenny that he was having a hard time not laughing.

"Look at these! They're so cute!"

Jethro snorted and tried to cover it by coughing loudly. Jenny turned to him and glared. He glared right back. She suddenly smiled and bit her lip to keep from laughing herself. She practically threw herself at him and squealed, dragging him towards another easel, inching closer to the man and woman amongst the tables.

"Let's get one done," she simpered.

"No."

Most likely, that suggestion was just part of the act, but he felt the need to make it clear that was absolutely not happening anytime soon. Jenny put on a spectacular pout that reminded him annoyingly of Diane and narrowed her eyes.

"Please, Jethro? You're never any fun," she whined.

Jethro saw their man roll his eyes out of the corner of his eye. He turned to speak to the woman, who was perched on a stool at his side, and she smirked. Jethro didn't hear what they said.

"The dirt bag is making fun of you," he informed Jenny anyway, willing to bet money he was right.

"Good. He's not taking us seriously," she answered lightly, swinging his arm like an idiot and still managing to look like a complete moon-eyed tourist as she pulled him closer to the man he deemed 'dirt bag' where a catalog of photos was kept in a bucket.

She tilted her head a little as she released Jethro and reached for the laminated pages of before and after pictures, flipping through them in mock excitement. She smiled slightly.

"He called me an American bimbo," she informed Jethro.

Jethro resisted the urge to turn and glare at the dirt bag. Jenny was not a bimbo. Bimbo implied cheap, slutty beauty. The unidentified brunette was a bimbo, in Jethro's opinion. Jenny leaned into him impishly and held up a page of pictures, pointing to one of a couple.

"We should get one. Come on, Jethro .It will be fun! We'll always remember it!"

"I'm never going to forget this," he muttered teasingly, and she slapped him lightly in the arm, dropping the page back in the bin.

She slipped her arms around his waist and squirmed. He just looked at her in amusement while she put her face close to his and lowered her voice.

"Was he at the bar with her?" she asked, with the same sweet smile on her face. Jethro nodded curtly.

"She could be passing information," Jenny murmured, attempting to look like she was trying to convince him to buy her a caricature.

Jethro took her shoulders and pushed her back a little.

"Stop acting like an idiot," he ordered her.

Jenny just fluttered her eyelashes and leaned into him. She reached behind him and fished in his pocket for his cell phone, sliding it up the sleeve of her jacket and then slipping it into his palm. She gave him a look, he nodded, and she kissed his cheek girlishly before flitting over to the man who'd insulted her.

Jenny started to speak again, half in French half in English, smiling and flattering through the conversation. Jethro would be subtle and quick enough to get a picture of the woman for an ID while she openly flirted with the male vendor. She felt an evil glare from the brunette when she complimented the vendor's hat, managing to draw a smile from him, and deduced there might be something going on between them.

After a few minutes of brainless babbling, she flounced back over to Jethro, pretending to speak to him excitedly about what the vendor had said. The look on his face informed her he was neither pleased nor impressed with her behavior; he probably preferred skulking around and glaring from behind easels.

But it was much more fun to publicly embarrass him in the process of working.

"Got it," Jethro said through tight lips, giving her an annoyed look. She started to speak and then tilted her head, listening. Slowly, she started to translate in a low voice, affecting a pout like Jethro had again denied her requests for a caricature.

"The Americans are the worst of them all—how much longer will you keep up this charade? If the police are getting suspicious of Pierrot's activities, you are not responsible—drop off the map…Marianne, hush, it's easier to watch from here, to hear news—"

Jethro nodded and waved his hand, getting the general idea of the conversation. Jenny closed her mouth and pressed her lips together, giving him a smug look. Her annoying behavior had caused the woman to complain and slip up.

She relaxed off of her tiptoes and pushed past Jethro, intent on waltzing around, maybe knocking something over, when a table of watercolors caught her eye. She stopped, widening her eyes a little. They were gorgeous.

She picked up one of the small canvases. It fit in the palm of her hand, square and rather light, a pink and purple painting of a water lily with just a touch of every other color. The others were like it, covered in different flowers or stars; some even a mirage of fireworks.

She felt Jethro come up behind her this time and knew not to turn around and smack into him. His coffee cup appeared on the table next to her hand and he took the canvas from her, examining what she found so interesting.

He reached around her middle and picked up her coffee. Jenny wriggled and tried to get free, slapping his arm; he lifted it over her head and disappeared with the canvas.

"Jethro?" she furrowed her brow and whirled around, searching. She caught sight of his silver head above a few of the taller easels and went after him, catching up. He was opening his wallet when she sidled up to his side quietly, exchanging money with their dirt bag vendor to purchase the miniature canvas.

"_Merci_," the man said boredly. The woman was still giving Jenny a distasteful look. Jenny looped her arm through Jethro's arm again and leaned against him, giggling for good measure. She swore he was rolling his eyes at her; the man gave him a sympathetic look and Jenny made a mental note to kick him extra hard if they ever had to chase him down.

Jethro's hand dropped to her back and he forcibly led her away from the caricatures and the area they'd been in towards the busier streets, balancing his near empty coffee and the canvas in his other hand.

He stopped near a trash bin and pitched the coffee. Jenny broke loose of him and turned with an arched eyebrow. He handed her the canvas and she took it with a smile, giving it an admiring look before glancing back at him.

"Do you understand the concept of a birthday?" she asked. He looked at her, and she elaborated. "People are supposed to give _you_ gifts."

"You liked it," he answered, pulling her out of the way of a man on a cell phone who almost mowed her down.

Jenny smiled, turning and jerking her head forward to indicate they should walk. She glanced at the street signs and landmarks and determined they were right where they ought to be at this time, though Jethro didn't know she had them at a designated place for a reason.

"Want to head back?" Jenny asked, looking at her watercolor lily happily. Jethro shrugged and grunted in a non-committal way. She glanced at him wickedly.

"Ducky's going to be gone until supper," she informed him in a sing-song voice, "and my little black bag is not empty yet…"

Jethro replaced his hand on her lower back and started pulling her. She smirked and allowed him the liberty. She spotted the headquarters for Paris Police and kept a neutral face, holding her canvas carefully so no one would smash it running into her.

"How did you get rid of Ducky all day?" Jethro asked suspiciously.

Jenny smiled mischievously.

"If I told you, it wouldn't work if I ever needed to get rid of you."

Jethro gave her a look. She smiled up at him and held out a hand, stopping him across from a food vendor. She read the small menu quickly and he pulled her towards him, wrapping an arm around her waist.

"Ice cream," she said, nodding at the vendor.

He looked at her expectantly. Jenny reached behind her and stopped his wandering hands with her free one, lifting her eyebrow. She'd apparently lost his cooperation when she mentioned her little black bag.

"I am not above bribing you to get me some ice cream," Jenny informed him. He lifted his eyebrows with a smirk. Jenny shrugged and stopped attempting to stay his relentless hands. She placed her hand on his neck and ran her fingers through the hair at the base of it, well aware of what he liked.

Jethro pulled her tighter and she leaned into him, pulling back when he tried to close the gap between their lips. She gave him a gloating look.

"The quicker I get ice cream, the quicker we get back in bed."

He dragged her across the way to the vendor. The man greeted them in fairly impressive English; it must be Jethro's lucky day. Jenny tried to scramble free of him, catching a flash of yellow out of the corner of her eye, but he just pulled her closer and made it difficult for her to escape.

Jenny resorted to underhanded means and kissed him below the ear wantonly. His grip slackened instantly and she leapt away, smirking, as the vendor called his attention back and she turned, spotting a familiar face leaning against a wall at the entrance to an alley, a yellow cap on her head.

Casually, Jenny made her way over as if it were a random meeting. Jethro, though he glanced up at her quizzically, was occupied with the vendor.

"Olivia," she said quietly, nodding at the other agent.

"Hey, Jenny," Olivia said nicely. She looked tired and stressed; Jenny knew Decker and Kasey's assignment was more in the open and therefore more dangerous. Olivia currently wore the garb of a Paris police officer, except for the yellow cap.

"How's it going?" Jenny murmured, as Olivia reached inside her jacket for something. She held an envelope in her palm and slipped it to Jenny without a word or a glance at it.

Just as subtly, Jenny slipped it into the bag holding the I-love-Paris t-shirt and Stan's necklace.

"I was able to scrounge that up for you," she said quietly. "Will found a known associate, too," Olivia grinned slightly, "He says to tell you, you owe us one."

Jenny nodded with a short smile, tightening her grip on the plastic bag.

Olivia looked over Jenny's shoulder and Jenny knew Jethro must have noticed her talking to someone. When Jenny looked back at Olivia, she was wearing a short smile and met Jenny's eyes with that _look_ that everyone had given Jethro when she'd first started working with him.

Jenny winced inwardly. She should have been thinking more when she threw herself at Jethro in the streets, especially considering she'd arranged this meeting with Kasey. She was being too reckless. They both were.

"I won't say a thing," Olivia said gently, giving Jenny a pleased look. "I sure as hell won't be telling Will," she added.

Jenny forced a small laugh. It sure as hell didn't need to get back to Will, or anyone else for that matter, that she was fooling around with Jethro—much less on the streets when they were supposed to be working. She inclined her head towards Olivia.

"Don't read into it, Li—Olivia. It's the cover,"

Olivia cut her off, shrugging her shoulders.

"Jenny, don't." she looked over Jenny's shoulder again and then lowered her voice even more. She smiled. "It's not the cover. It's the way you look at him."

Olivia pulled back and Jenny blinked at her, aware Jethro had just appeared ominously behind her and put out by what her fellow agent had just said.

"Kasey," Jethro greeted gruffly.

Olivia nodded curtly to him in acknowledgement.

"Nice to see a familiar face," she said casually. Jenny let out a breath. She'd been worried Olivia might let it slip that Jenny had arranged this meeting, which would earn her another round of shouting with Jethro for careless jeopardizing of the mission. Again.

Olivia pushed off from the wall she'd leaned against and gestured towards the police building a few blocks down.

"I've got to get back," she said lightly, "you might see Deck around. He likes to tail me." She rolled her eyes and turned. Jenny caught her arm.

"Olivia, Will's harmless. Ease up on him. It won't be so bad," she offered. And she meant it. If Olivia just stopped acting so downright cold whenever Decker tried to make a joke they might be able to get on better.

Olivia actually smirked. Jenny glared at her, in a semi-friendly way. Thankfully, Kasey chose not to make a smart ass comment about relaxing with your partner and just nodded, waving shortly before melting back into the crowds and vanishing.

Jethro nudged Jenny's shoulder with his hand and handed her a Styrofoam cup full of ice cream. Jenny picked up the spoon and smirked, turning towards him. She pushed what Olivia had said to the back of her mind and took a bite of her frozen treat.

"Raspberry sorbet is my favorite," she stated.

She really didn't know how he knew that, unless he guessed or she told him and didn't remember. She leaned up on tip toes and peeked into his ice cream cup. She clicked her tongue at him.

"Vanilla is boring, Jethro," she informed him, rolling her eyes. Typical.

"You had any contact with Kasey?" Jethro asked, ignoring her comment and studying her face.

Damn him. Damn him and his perceptive investigative skills and his shrewd way of knowing when she was up to something. Granted, she had to blame herself for alerting him to the fact that she was, in fact, hiding an agenda.

"Chance meeting," Jenny answered, shrugging and falling back on her heels. "It was bound to happen."

"You shouldn't have approached her."

Jenny rolled her eyes.

"You don't think it's a big deal, Jen, but you don't know who's watching. She took a risk even calling you—"

"Yeah," Jenny interrupted shortly, "I know. We potentially blew the entire mission by saying a quiet hello on the streets. Eat your ice cream and enough with the damn superiority complex."

Jethro glared at her. Jenny shrugged carelessly. He could be so arrogant sometimes about his apparent flawlessness. Jethro deliberately took a bit of her ice cream. Jenny stuck her tongue out at him immaturely.

He smirked at the gesture. Jenny averted the argument, and resumed her mission to get them back to the house with enough time to roll around in bed for a while before Ducky returned and spoiled the fun. Olivia's words nagged at her uncomfortably, and she solved the problem by simply not looking at him as much.

Then she needn't worry about how she was _looking_ at him.

* * *

Doctor Donald Mallard stood in the study outside of the kitchen that served as a sort of work room and recreational room. He had turned on the TV for the evening news after dinner, and been compelled to call Jennifer and Jethro down soon after when news from the United States had made an appearance.

They were all a bit out of the loop in that area.

Jethro had taken a seat in an armchair near the television and Jenny remained standing before it, one of her arms crossed across her stomach. Ducky was watching her more than he was watching the news. She was watching the television set tensely; the anchor was speaking in French—which Ducky translated if Jethro needed to know the gist.

"Federal authorities from the United States stonewalled an arms deal in the Czech republic last night, blocking the trade of over a ton of arms to a well known terrorist group—"

"That's us," Jethro said gruffly, when Ducky had translated.

Jenny didn't say a word. She stared at the television screen.

"You seem sure, Jethro. It could very well have been the FBI," Ducky said, teasing slightly.

Jethro snorted.

"If it was the FBI, the news would have their logo plastered all over singing their godforsaken praises. If it was CIA, there'd be not a words said about it. 'Federal Authorities' is us."

Ducky watched Jethro turn his attention away from and look at Jenny. She looked away from the TV when he turned to her and shrugged. Jethro seemed to be watching her intently.

"What a victory for the United States," Ducky mused, turning the television off.

Most of tonight's news had been celebrity or otherwise, mostly meaning gossip about the French president's latest political debacle.

"You think Decker tipped it?" Jethro asked.

Jenny didn't answer. She shrugged and picked up a glass of water she'd been nursing since dinner.

Ducky smiled at her while she drank. He'd only returned to the house at dinner, and she had been the one to greet him. Jethro was nowhere to be found, but he'd appeared a good quarter of an hour later. Ducky had wished his friend a happy birthday, to which Jennifer had smirked and Jethro had muttered something about useless days.

They had been working all day while he himself had been treated to a ticket to one of Paris's oldest museums by Jenny. She had informed him it was only fair that he be able to entertain himself instead of wandering around aimlessly all day. He had been sure to leave early and take advantage of the situation.

Now, after dinner, they were all settling down for the night. Ducky settled back to observe his two colleagues, a favorite past time of his. It was amusing to watch Jethro try to cope with someone who didn't take him seriously at all.

He was also trying to figure out what the undercurrent between them was. Jethro was certainly acting different than he had in America, but that could be because he was no longer dealing with the handful that was Diane.

Jennifer teased Jethro. She mocked him constantly, and he seemed to either not care or let it bounce off of him. He had never given Jenny a trademark 'Gibbs-slap', and he listened to her whether she realized it or not.

Ducky wasn't a man to jump to conclusions; just because a male and female were stuck together as partners didn't mean he was going to assume they were sleeping together. He wasn't one to stereotype much, either; he tried very hard not to assume Jethro would be sleeping with Jenny because of his penchant for leggy redheads.

Yet how could he not assume?

Jethro said something to Jenny that annoyed her and she aimed a kick at his shin. Jethro winced as her foot collided with him and grabbed it, upsetting her balance and sprawling her onto the couch.

Ducky chuckled as Jenny laughed and aimed another feeble kick at Jethro from her awkward position.

He heard the ringing of a cell phone, muffled, probably from either upstairs or maybe from the kitchen. Jenny and Jethro either ignored it or did not hear it.

After watching a moment more, Ducky stood silently.

"I believe it's time for my retreat to my room," he announced dramatically.

Jenny looked up at him from her back on the couch, smiling nicely.

"Goodnight, Ducky," she said.

"Night, Duck," Jethro grunted. "Jen, you lost a shoe."

Jenny looked down at her feet and gasped, twisting around. She dove over the arm rest of the couch and practically into Jethro's lap, reaching for the small pump. Laughing, she tried to snatch it away from Jethro.

Ducky shook his head and chuckled. Whether or not something was going on between the agents, they had chemistry so strong he could almost touch it. Ducky had not seen Jethro look so pleased so many times in one night in a long time. It suited him, and Ducky was glad.

He supposed it could just be that Jethro and Jenny got on well, better than other partners. And yet he was disinclined to think that it was just a well-matched partnership.

There was something in the way Jethro looked at her.

Ducky sighed as he left the room, smiling, though a little sadly. He had seen this coming. He could be wrong yet about what was going on, be he doubted his feeling was wrong. He had warned Jethro to tread carefully already. He felt Jethro would never enter into a relationship with a co-worker; it was against his better convictions and unwise.

He also felt this was inevitable, whether it had happened yet or not.

* * *

Jenny pushed her hair out of her face and leaned against the doorframe of the study, curling her toes into the carpet. Ducky had disappeared a few hours ago, and she'd spent those hours on the floor of the study with Jethro—stunning as it might be, not naked, but working out.

Though the working out involved slightly more inappropriate touching than NCIS gym sessions.

Jethro sat on the floor in front of the couch, stretching his legs out in the space where a coffee table had resided earlier. It was now halfway into the kitchen, moved out of the way after Jenny attempted to bust the glass on it.

He looked up at her.

"Mind going for a walk?" Jenny asked, a spur of the moment suggestion.

Jethro pushed himself off the floor in response and came to stand in front of her. Jenny watched him and turned away, walking silently towards the door. She was uncomfortable from working up a sweat in something other than gym clothes, and it was a little stuffy in the house for her taste.

The breezy, slightly cooler air of the Paris night was welcome on her skin. She didn't bother with shoes, an incredibly stupid idea, and stepped lightly down the steps in front of Jethro, leaving the locking up to him. He caught up with her after a few seconds and Jenny was surprised that he threw his arm around her shoulder and pulled her towards him.

She didn't say anything. She didn't have anything to talk about and Jethro never cared if it was silent. Reluctantly, she thought of what Olivia had said, even though she'd prefer not to. She hadn't given a thought to this fling since Marseille.

She kept looking up at the stars, squinting at the inky blue sky, and never did remember how they ended up on the bank of the Seine outside the city. It was a fair walk, and she stopped when she realized how far they'd gone, kicking a rock into the water.

She looked up at Jethro, and raised an eyebrow.

"You think it's cold?" she asked casually.

He started to answer and then clamped his mouth shut, looking at her suspiciously. She titled her head and smiled innocently. Jenny reached out and wrapped her arms around his waist, finding the hem of his shirt and inching it upwards.

"I could use cooling off," she said slowly, trying to pull the shirt up farther. When her resisted, she just slipped her hands underneath it and ran them over his bare skin. "So could you. You're still burning up."

He gave her a warning glare and tried to push her off. Jenny scrambled to keep her footing and shrieked when she almost lost her balance. He caught her swiftly and she just pushed at him, almost toppling him into the river.

"Let's go skinny dipping," she whispered.

"I don't think so," Jethro snorted.

"Jethro," Jenny coaxed, "we're in Paris. It's the _Seine_. Live a little."

He shook his head stubbornly and grabbed her shoulders, pushing her backwards. She leapt away and ran into him, managing to make him stumble backwards.

"Jen!"

"You're going into this river."

"The hell I am!"

Jenny raised her eyebrow. Jethro glared at her. She slackened her grip on his shirt and pretended to pat out the wrinkles on his shoulder. He reached up to take her hands and started to pull her close, probably to keep an eye on her, when she tightened her hold in his shirt again and pushed him towards the water, sending them both down the rocky bank.

Jenny scrambled with her feet, wincing and laughing as the rocks hurt her bare toes, and tried to prevent herself from going. She managed to shake Jethro loose and fell backwards violently into some marshy grass while he went backwards with a splash into the famous waters of the Seine.

She burst out laughing; he came up spluttering, glaring at her through the darkness with the scariest one she'd seen yet. Jenny tried to stand, cursing softly as she used the hand that was still healing from the glass incident to push herself up.

"How's the water?" she asked through her laughter.

"You're going to pay."

"_Ooooh_, Jethro, I'm scared."

He swam towards her in the water and she smirked. Standing up a little more near the bank, he glowered at her through his dripping hair and clothes and reached out for her. She jumped back and slipped a little, falling again, but he didn't catch her.

"No way in hell I'm that stupid," she protested with a snort, giving his hand a wary look.

"Afraid to get a little wet, Jen?" Jethro asked mockingly.

She lifted an eyebrow. He smirked. They seemed to run through they eyebrow-smirking routine a lot. Primly, Jenny got back up, trying to balance on the uneven bank, but she underestimated Jethro's proximity. As she thrust out a hand to steady herself, he grabbed it and jerked her forward.

Nearly headfirst, she pitched forward into the dark water and was immersed with a similar splash in the cold water, slamming into Jethro's chest and knocking them both back under the water.

Half laughing, half shrieking, Jenny came up, shaking her hair and gasping for breath. The water was cold and warm at the same time, probably dirty as hell, and cast in the glow of moonlight and the city.

"How's the water, Jenny?" he mocked, gloating.

She splashed two handfuls of water in his face and ducked when he retaliated, letting out another high-pitched squeal. She covered her face to protect her eyes and another shower of water hit her. Glaring at him through her fingers, Jenny threw herself forward and climbed up his body, attempting to dunk his arrogant head under water.

Jethro ran his hand up her leg and succeeded in making her think it was a sea creature, even though they were in fresh water. She screamed and held onto him, forgetting her mission to douse him further and locking her arms around his neck.

He laughed in her ear, real laughter. Jenny wrapped her legs around his waist and shivered in the sudden breeze, burying her head in his shoulder and giggling again. He put a hand in her soaking wet hair and tugged her head up.

He kissed her.

Jenny snuggled close to him, opening her eyes to watch him kiss her. He splashed water on her from behind and she pulled back, glaring at him while he smirked.

He tightened his hold on her and she took advantage of his warmth, curling into him again and leaning in for another kiss. It was probably after midnight now. The stars were out, they were splashing around like idiots in the Seine, soaking wet, clinging to each other.

It was sickeningly cliché for Jenny's tastes. Romantic, even though she shouldn't be thinking that. She shouldn't have butterflies, either, but maybe she did. She leaned back and looked at Jethro, biting her lip through a softer smirk than usual. He looked back, cloaked in darkness.

It was the moment she realized it had never been about just sex.

* * *


	12. Equality

_A/N: Thanks to a'serene! I apologize for the bit of a wait in between updates. School sometimes makes me lose track of time and I didn't realize it had been more than 2 days._

**

* * *

**

_Kelly scampered around in the grass, sneaking after butterflies and giggling when she failed to catch them. _

_Jethro watched her from the back door, listening to her laughter. _

"_Daddy! Look!"_

_Kelly held up her finger excitedly and showed off the monarch that had alighted on her fingers. Her blue eyes shone brightly and she kept very still._

_He smiled at her. She was always able to catch butterflies; he thought it was because she was so gentle and kind with everything. Kelly giggled as the monarch fluttered away and she spun around in a circle, stopping suddenly._

"_Where's Mommy, Daddy?" she asked._

_Jethro turned to his side. Shannon was gone._

"_Daddy, don't go," Kelly whimpered suddenly, and he stepped forward, shaking his head._

"_I'm not going anywhere, Kelly," he soothed._

_She looked straight through him and stepped back. She spun around again._

"_Daddy!" she cried, tears springing to her eyes. "Daddy, where are you? Daddy!"_

"_Kelly," he tried, but he couldn't speak above a whisper. He tried to reach for her but he could only watch her look for him._

"_Daddy, help," Kelly cried. _

_She stopped and lifted up her hands. His throat locked up when he saw the bloodstains spreading over her small palms, staining her dress. Her blue eyes went wide. She looked up, horrified, and held out her hands, looking around wildly._

"_DADDY!" she screamed, starting to cry. "Daddy, come back! I need you! Daddy!"_

_Her frightened voice faded and he could only see her lips moving desperately, screaming for him. Jethro stumbled backwards and tried to look away, but the sight paralyzed him. He just wanted her to know he was there…he wanted to hug her…_

Jethro woke with a violent start, covered in sweat. He threw the heavy covers off of him and sat up, cradling his head in his knees. His first instinct was to breathe. He ground his teeth together tightly, unable to shake the images.

Kelly's screams still echoed in his ears.

He lifted his head, blinking slowly and resolutely ignoring the sting in his eyes. Narrowing his eyes in the darkness, he turned slightly to find Jenny. She was curled up in the sheets on the other side of the bed, her hair completely covering her face as she slept. He looked at the clock; it was early.

Running a hand over his face roughly, Jethro got out of bed and found a discarded pair of jeans, jerking them on and leaving the room without a backward glance. The house was dark except for the tiniest hints of morning starting to peak through the blinds. Ducky's door was tightly closed.

He went straight through the kitchen and out the sliding door, not bothering to shut it behind him so he'd hear anyone moving around. He crossed his arms and glanced over the small yard, not really seeing it, watching the sky slowly lighten from black to grey.

He hadn't dreamed about them since they left the states. Without the constant reminder of sleeping in a house that would forever echo with his little girl's footsteps, and laughter, and Shannon's voice, he'd been able to relax into sleep easier. Jenny had been a formidable distraction, as well.

He stared down a dewy patch of grass. It hurt to remember them. It was why he never talked about them, though they were the center of his life still. No one could possibly understand that pain, and he didn't have time for sympathetic looks and awkward apologies. Their memories were his and his alone, and they were constantly marred by dreams of Kelly's frightened screams and tearful face, or memories of Shannon's brave smile as he left for Desert Storm. He couldn't remember them properly when his nightmares plagued him with guilt and regret. He'd give anything to tell them everything he felt for them in every word possible. Shannon would never complain he had weird ways of saying I love you again.

But that would never be. He had to get over it; accept it.

He didn't turn around at the sound of soft footfalls behind him. They were too light to be Ducky. She stopped at the open door and he felt her hesitate, and then tentatively start forward. Her small hand touched his back and she appeared at his shoulder, looking up at him with messy, knotted hair and sleepy eyes.

Her brow furrowed slightly.

"Jethro," she said quietly, obviously the first time she'd spoken. "It's five a.m."

He didn't answer. He caught himself before he snapped at her to leave, sensing she didn't mean any harm. He'd probably woken her up anyway leaving so loudly. Jenny tilted her head at him and seemed unfazed that he didn't answer. She inched forward and kissed his shoulder, leaning her head against him. She yawned.

Without a word, he lifted his arm and slipped it around her, pulling her in front of him and wrapping his arms around her. He buried his face in her hair and inhaled her scent; she was always warm, always smelled like exotic flowers and honey mixed with something spicy.

It struck him as odd that he didn't mind her here, even wanted her, when anyone else would be ordered away from him with a glare. Diane had always borne the brunt of misplaced anger when he'd dreamt badly during their marriage. Jenny didn't provoke that kind of annoyance; probably because she wasn't trying to shrink him every five seconds.

"Jethro," Jenny murmured again, shifting her head and resting her cheek against his chest. "It's chilly."

There was a slight breeze. It wasn't cold to him at all, but she was wearing shorts and a camisole of some light material, and attempting to burrow into him as tightly as possible. She snuggled into him a few more minutes before turning her head to look at the light-streaked sky.

She looked back at him, studying his face.

"Coffee?"

He nodded, and she extracted herself, squeezing his arm as she brushed past him back into the kitchen. He lingered on the back patio for a while, listening to her pull out mugs and situate the coffee maker. Birds started in around the area. At least Kelly's screams had faded.

He followed Jenny into the kitchen and slid the door shut silently. He leaned against the counter next to her and picked up her left hand when she'd finished starting the coffee, looking at the thin, healing lines that were left over from her episode with the broken glass. He ran his fingers over the scars.

Jenny yawned again, and watched him examine the scars, dark shadows visible just slightly under her eyes.

"Didn't mean to wake you," he said gruffly.

Jenny shook her head, and shrugged.

"I was half awake," she said. "You kicked me." She added.

Jethro smirked and she shouldered him softly.

"Not funny."

"Payback," he shot back, numbering the times she'd kicked him back in London, before they'd slept together. The list went on.

"You kick harder than me," she defended, gently pulling her hand away from him to attend to the buzzing coffee maker.

"You have cold feet."

"You steal the covers! I have to practically climb on top of you to keep warm!"

Jethro smirked again. Jenny gave him a suddenly suspicious look and held the cup she'd been about to hand him out of arms reach.

"You do that on _purpose_," she hissed, slowly handing over the coffee with a glare. He raised his eyebrows innocently and took a sip, grateful she'd lightened the atmosphere a little. She dispelled darker thoughts.

"I plead the fifth."

"Jethro, blanket manipulation takes the cake for annoying bed habits," Jenny informed him, taking a drink of her own coffee. He noticed briefly that she, for once, didn't add any sugar or creamer, or anything else.

"No," he protested, glaring at her, "you talking to me in your _sleep_ is annoying."

Jenny gave him a look. She always denied her sleep talking. He rather enjoyed it, particularly when she randomly mumbled and he tried to figure out what she was thinking by the broken words.

"Hmmm?" Jenny murmured, raising her eyebrows. She set her cup down and inched closer to him, folding her arms and leaning her hip against the counter as she turned. "What do I talk about?" she asked softly.

Jethro swallowed a mouthful of coffee. He leaned closer.

"Me," he informed her smugly.

"It turns you on, doesn't it, Jethro?" she asked, slipping her hands up his waist. She pulled him towards her, not that he was resisting at all.

"Only when you moan my name,"

"_Jethro_," she complied softly with a smirk, pressing her lips against his.

He kissed her slowly, tasted coffee on her lips, and for once it didn't matter if he was dragging her into bed with him five minutes from now; he just wanted to kiss her. Jenny kept pulling him closer. She sighed and slipped her tongue into his mouth. Jethro ran his hands over her back, bunching up the cotton of her camisole in his fingers.

At the same moment, they both pulled back and turned to their respective coffee cups; Jenny cleared her throat quietly and lifted hers, looking out the small window above the sink. Jethro made a point of looking past her back to the other side of the kitchen, bringing his mug to his lips.

Both of them had heard Ducky in the hall. The medical examiner entered the kitchen just as Jenny took a drink of her coffee; neither of them knew what he'd seen or heard.

"Good morning," Ducky greeted pleasantly.

"Morning, Ducky," Jenny answered, turning slightly. She gestured to her mug. "You want a cup?"

Ducky shook his head with a smile.

"You know of my penchant for the Earl," he answered, moseying over to the cabinet where he kept his tea making materials.

Jethro rolled his eyes behind Ducky's back and Jenny smiled into her coffee. Ducky pulled his cabinet open on the other side of the sink and Jenny swiveled to him, taking the teapot from his hand helpfully. She set her mug down absentmindedly.

"My dear, what on earth happened to your arms?"

Ducky took Jenny's wrist gently and pulled it towards him, concern spreading over his features. Jenny furrowed her eyebrows and looked down, confused. Ducky held up her arm delicately; she set her face carefully when she realized Ducky was referring to the bruises Jethro had left.

Next to her, Jethro pointedly drank his coffee.

"I—those," she paused, swallowing carefully. "I must have hurt myself." She finished lamely.

She could practically hear Jethro groaning in exasperation in his head. Again, he felt like he failed in teaching her anything about covering yourself.

"Yes, _clearly_, Jenny," Ducky responded, looking at her in surprise. "These don't look accidental; they look as if they were inflicted on you. Jethro?"

"What?" Jethro asked sharply. Ducky gave him a surprised look as well, having only referred to him for his opinion. Jethro looked down at Jenny's hand briefly and shrugged.

Jenny could have hidden her face in her arms if that had been an option. She hadn't even noticed he'd bruised her, and on top of that her excuses fell short of believable. Ducky made a displeased comment and Jethro turned slightly, looking at her wrist again.

"Jen, that guy on the underground probably did it," Jethro commented casually.

Jenny glanced up at Ducky and didn't miss a beat.

"He's right," she said, nodding as if she was just remembering, "some idiot fell on the subway and grabbed me to keep from face-planting."

She pulled gently on her hand and Ducky let her go. She wrapped the hand around her mug again and flicked her eyes to the other wrist to check it for the same evidence. The bruises there were less visible. Jenny tapped her coffee mug loudly, mentally yelling at someone to speak. An alarm went off and Ducky startled.

"Ah, that's mine," he muttered, trailing off as he turned and hurried out of the kitchen.

Swiftly, Jethro picked up Jenny's hand and turned it over, taking a look at her wrists himself. He held her wrist limply and looked up at her.

"When—"

"I don't know. Pick a night, any night," she paused. "Or day, for that matter. Afternoon, possibly." She lifted an eyebrow smartly.

He snorted and ran his thumb over her pulse point.

"Did I hurt you, Jen?" he asked.

Jenny rolled her eyes.

"I'm fairly certain I was unconcerned at the time," she remarked lightly. "If you had hurt me, you'd know," she threatened as an afterthought, narrowing her eyes.

Jethro responded by dropping her hand on the countertop unceremoniously.

"Ow!"

She punched him in the shoulder.

"You can't lie worth a damn," he informed her impudently. She tried to hit him again but he blocked her.

"What was I supposed to say! 'Oh, that's nothing, Duck—Jethro and I got a bit carried away in bed'. How do you come up with an excuse for," she fumbled for the words for her bruises and instead just shook her wrist in his face "for this!"

"I saved your ass, Jenny," he gloated.

"Would you like a gold star, Jethro?" she responded sarcastically.

"Has anyone gotten the paper?" Ducky called down the hall.

"No," Jenny answered promptly, glaring playfully at her partner. The front door opened with a click, presumably Ducky going out to get it himself. He would want it with his tea, naturally.

Jethro placed his hand on her neck and pulled her forward into a kiss. Jenny squealed and pulled back, glaring at him in the middle of the kitchen.

"Have you lost your mind?" she hissed, biting back a smirk.

He shushed her and backed away to an appropriate distance. Ducky entered the kitchen again while Jenny glared at Jethro. He looked out the back door and drank his coffee nonchalantly. Ducky set the paper down on the table and went back to his tea, pouring it into a small cup and returning to the paper.

Jenny continued to glare at Jethro while he stoically ignored her. He couldn't just kiss her like that and walk away…there were rules to this game. He had to learn them. Ducky's clearing of his throat snapped her out of her conniving thoughts of punishment.

"Is anyone going to break the silence?" he asked lightly, as if asking one of them to pass him the milk. He turned a page in the paper and opened to another spread, shaking it out. "No?"

Jenny thought he sounded suspiciously like a patronizing chaperone, or parent of some sort. She watched Jethro shift slightly and look over his shoulder to give Ducky a look.

"Right then," Ducky laid the paper flat and turned in his chair, holding a saucer under his teacup. "I believe it is high time the two of you stop sneaking around. We are all adults here."

He seemed to notice the completely floored look on Jenny's face that she didn't even get the chance to try and hide. To his credit, Jethro managed to stay completely composed. Ducky gave them a pointed look and inclined his head at Jenny.

"I am well aware Jennifer is not sleeping in her room," he stated simply, with a small smile.

Jenny resisted the urge to hide her face in her hands but she couldn't resist the flush that crept over her cheeks. The only way this could be worse for her was if Ducky was her father, and she didn't even want to contemplate that. At least Ducky wasn't pulling a shotgun on Jethro.

Jethro didn't say a word. She could have killed him for being so casual. If she'd kept it together like him they could plausibly deny everything Ducky had just intimated and carry on 'sneaking around'.

She turned away from Ducky and rubbed her forehead reflexively, pushing her coffee mug away from her. The paper crinkled and Jethro spoke up suddenly.

"There's been a murder," he said gruffly.

She turned, resting her palm on the counter, and threw a violent glare at his bent head. She felt exceedingly unprofessional and irresponsible at the moment and he was making small talk about the Paris crime news? Yet another reason she could kill him.

"That's very nice, Jethro. Thank you for sharing," she snapped.

He looked up at her in slight surprise and narrowed his eyes.

"He's one of ours," Jethro said shortly, clearly not pleased with the tone.

Ducky turned with a furrowed brow and looked at the paper. Jenny paused and then stepped up behind Ducky's chair, leaning over to look at the paper. Jethro's hand was holding it down over a spread detailing an exclusive on the murder of a 'less-than-model-civilian suspected of various criminal acts'. Ducky translated the important bits for Jethro.

Jenny looked up from the article at him and pursed her lips, placing a hand on her hip and another across the back of Ducky's chair. It was the man from the caricature shop.

"We need the intel on this," she said shortly. "We need to identify that woman, too," she added, glancing back at the article for a moment.

"Contact Kasey. You're good at that," Jethro remarked, giving her a look. Jenny bit the inside of her lip to hold back a retort and touched Ducky's shoulder hesitantly.

"I can get in touch with Decker," she said slowly, working it out in her head.

"Kasey's the one with access to the police records and reports. Talking to Decker would be useless," Jethro shot her down.

Jenny held her ground, giving him a sharp look.

"I can get Decker working on an identification, Headquarters too, if I contact them. Kasey will be at the crime scene; you and Ducky could blend in and check it out. Your investigative skills are pretty useful," she received a glare for her insult; "We'd get different aspects of the crime and have a few better angles to look at."

"What _angles_?" he scoffed.

Ducky's shoulder stiffened beneath her palm and she pushed down her initial instinct to bite out a response to him for, yet again, ignoring her proposals. Their bickering made Ducky uncomfortable.

"Well, Jethro," she said carefully, "whether it's a coincidence or involves us, for one."

"I don't believe in coincidences."

"And I don't believe in assumptions," Jenny snapped, taking her hand off Ducky's shoulder and stepping back from his chair. "I suggest we don't make any."

Jethro glared at her across Ducky's head for a split moment and then nodded curtly.

"Sharp thinking," he commented, "Not bad."

He turned away from her caught off guard look and pulled the paper towards him, rolling it up haphazardly and woe to anyone who planned on reading the rest of it.

"Duck, you're with me," he said. "You could talk the intel out of anyone," he added in a mutter.

Ducky nodded and smiled, getting up and leaving his tea things on the table.

"This should be interesting," he remarked brightly, excusing himself to her as he brushed past her to get dressed.

Jethro dropped the paper on the counter behind him and turned to Jenny, facing her penetrating look expectantly. She disliked the impatient look he was giving her, like he was waiting for her to snap at him and get it over with. She made him wait a little longer than necessary.

"Why is it always a battle to get you to listen to me?" she asked quietly, apparently quieter than he was expecting if the look on his face was anything to go by.

"Don't know what you're talking about," he answered flippantly.

Jenny made a quiet noise of discontent in her throat and folded her arms, gripping her shoulders. She gave him an annoyed look.

"You still don't take me seriously. Your first reaction is to blow me off," she said, refusing to let him look away from her. He fixed her with an annoyed glare.

"Did you miss the part where we decided to go with _your_ plan?" he snapped in irritation, gesturing roughly at the newspaper. Jenny's emerald eyes flashed with anger and she set her jaw.

"After you made it _clear_ you're unimpressed and consider it last-ditch. You have a habit of belittling my thoughts—"

"Paranoia is not attractive, Jenny," he growled, and she almost hit him for it. She straightened her shoulders and grabbed his shoulder when he tried to get past her.

"The chauvinist in you won't _dare_ let it look like a woman has any semblance of control or power, and sure as hell not in front of Ducky. Start treating me as an equal and not a just a fucking girl—"

"Dammit, Jen, I question you to make you back up your plans. It makes you think. It works out flaws if you feel you have to defend yourself and you do a _damn_ good job of defending yourself. Don't think I'm not fully aware of your ability to be resourceful _and_ deceitful, and don't _dare_ think I don't see you as an equal," he interrupted, shaking her arm off and stepping up to look down at her.

Involuntarily, she took a step back from his blazing stare and cursed herself inwardly for it. She smarted slightly at the use of the world deceitful, but she deserved that. He studied her face closely, watching the expression in her eyes.

"But I see you as a woman, too," he added in a lower voice, and in a way it was one of the sexiest things she'd ever heard—which was unsettling and perfectly sensible at the same time. It meant he saw her as his partner and his lover.

Now she didn't know whether she should be pissed anymore. It was any independent woman's goal to be seen as capable and strong yet feminine at the same time. She pressed her lips together and opted for just glaring back at him.

"You are infuriating," she informed him mildly, relaxing her stance. He relaxed and backed off, shrugging carelessly.

"You've got a hot temper," he pointed out.

"You're a bastard."

"You're stubborn."

Jenny broke into a tiny smirk. Her anger ebbed away and she leaned forward, kissing his shoulder lightly and giving him a smart look.

"You _men_ have fun at the crime scene," she mocked, turning and leaving the kitchen.

Jethro watched her saunter down the hall and listened to her light footsteps on the stairs as she went to get dressed. When he really thought about it, it was hard to discern if he liked fighting with her or sleeping with her more.

* * *

Jenny sat on her usually neglected bed in the center with a few pillows around her, files and papers spread out around her, her gun sitting next to her. She chewed on the cap of her pen and studied the file of the now deceased man, looking at his associates and such.

She'd kept her conversation with Decker short in order not to incriminate them or give anything away, just to be on the safe side. He didn't seem to believe the murder was a coincidence, coming so close on the heels of the NCIS arms bust. Decker wasn't aware Jenny's hunch had been the tip for that arms bust, but the idea of the death threading together with that started a sneaking worry in the very back of her mind.

The dead man, who'd been in the caricature shop with her and Jethro, was associated closely with the two men who'd mentioned La Grenouille. Jenny had a sneaking suspicion they may have considered him a leak for some reason, and staged a murder—but she had yet to talk to Ducky or Jethro about the crime scene and they'd been gone for close to five hours.

And they knew her face. She'd never confided in Jethro the details of what she'd done when she went rogue that night about a week ago, but the bottom line was she'd been careful but more visible than he would have allowed. As long as Jenny remained unconnected to any of this, there was nothing to fret about, but she suddenly saw the error in her ways. She never should have approached them.

Decker was working on an ID of the unidentifiable woman from Jenny's careful description until she could get a picture printed and delivered to him. He'd confirmed Kasey was helping deal with the crime scene and filing copies of the reports with NCIS.

She was memorizing the files. Locations, associates, names, places, dates—she was determined to know it all in order to arm herself better. She hadn't been focused. When she was alone, she could reflect logically on the way she'd been doing her job of late and reprimand herself. Her surveillance with Jethro had been half-hearted at best.

She should be worried about the fact that she didn't regret it. They hadn't slipped up with the mission, hadn't blown a cover or shaken anything up. She hadn't spoken to Decker in depth about his and Kasey's work but she was willing to bet they'd done more.

Jenny's one triumph had been celebrated alone—Morrow had called her after the arms bust story had broken and thanked her for the tip, even tried to sniff out how she'd acquired it. She dodged the question, didn't tell Jethro or Ducky about the phone call, and thought about it for a long time afterwards, lying awake in the dark while Jethro slept.

Jenny sighed loudly to break the silence in the room and slapped the folder in front of her shut. She knew every fact and figure of the dead man's folder, as well as the two men she'd practically introduced herself to.

She picked up her gun and ran her hands over it, checking to make sure it was loaded. Beyond the range at work, a few close calls, the firefight in Manassas and the hostage situation that had been her first kill she'd hardly fired it. The moments she had had been so charged with stress and fear, particularly her first kill, that she hadn't thought about it. She buried it in the recesses of her mind.

Jenny shifted on the bed and held up her SIG, examining it. It was too quiet. She considered finding some music to play, banking on finding some classical tunes in Ducky's room. She shuddered to think how lonely this would be if she weren't here with people she cared about and got along with.

She swept her hair back off of her neck and slung it into a ponytail for the fourth time today. It was annoying the hell out of her no matter how she wore it. She flopped backwards on the bed, trying to think of something productive to do.

Next to her, her cell phone started to ring.

She dived for it, eager for the attention.

"Shepard."

"Jenny," Decker's voice was breathless on the other end, like he'd been running. She furrowed her brow.

"Yeah, Shepard," she repeated, giving her phone a strange look. "Will? What's the problem?"

There was a brief silence. Decker cleared his throat and sounded as if he was catching his breath to speak.

"Are you near a television?"

"I can get to one," Jenny started slowly.

"G-get to one," Decker stated. Now he sounded like he was suppressing laughter and attempting at the same time to sound solemn.

Jenny got off of her bed and trekked across the room, pulling open her door and taking her time on the stairs.

"Quit with the games," she warned, asking him for an explanation.

"You heard from Gibbs or Mallard?" Decker asked shortly. She shook her head and then remembered he couldn't see her.

"No," she said, her pulse quickening suddenly. Something had gone wrong…

"Er," Decker paused, drawing a breath again. Jenny rolled her eyes impatiently and found her way into the study, searching for the remote.

"Spit it out, William," she snapped. If their bodies were splayed across the breaking news she was going to knock skulls, consequences be damned.

"There's a warrant out for Ducky's arrest."

Jenny stopped moving and fell silent.

Decker stifled laughter on the other end of the phone. She pulled the phone away from her ear, stared at it, and then straightened up, forgetting the remote, and calmly put the cell back to her ear.

"I'm sorry, Will, I think I misunderstood. Repeat that," she growled, knowing full well she'd heard correctly.

She had no earthly idea how this possibly could have happened. Jethro, that was understandable; there were a million different scenarios that could have him wanted by the police—but _Ducky_? The worst thing she could think of was that he _talked_ someone to the breaking point!

Decker had already repeated his statement.

"What happened?" she asked tightly.

"I don't have details—Livy called and started in on it, I thought you'd need to know," he paused to catch his breath again.

"Deck," Jenny said shortly, interrupting his fun. His partner wasn't the one gallivanting around Paris on the run from the cops. "I'm dropping this call," she warned, before she hit the end button and snapped the phone shut.

She stared at it, working herself into a temper again. This had Jethro written all over it, whatever 'it' was. _She_ should have gone with Ducky. It was probably due to a misunderstanding on Jethro's part—if he'd just learn to speak the damn language!

Within the next five minutes, her phone went off again, snapping her out of her imaginings of various scenarios. She flipped it open with a set jaw, fully expecting it to be her boss on the line.

"Shepard," she snapped sharply, about to let him have it. And not in the way he liked it this time, either. "Jethro, so help me _god_, I will kick your—"

"I assume you've heard the news, Agent Shepard," Director Morrow's voice commented grimly, interrupting her.

She winced.

"Unfortunately," she answered, reigning in her anger and softening her voice. She could see Morrow's slight drop of the head and sagging shoulders.

"This puts us in a delicate position," Morrow said shortly, though there was no anger in his voice; only concern. "You are not authorized to operate in Paris. Explaining the situation is jeopardizing relations and putting us in violation of international law—what is the situation, by the way, Miss Shepard?"

She gritted her teeth. She hated being called Miss Shepard—by anyone but Ducky.

"I'm not informed on the situation, sire," she answered formally, wishing she could sound less like an idiot.

Director Morrow sighed and paused again.

"I need to speak with Agent Gibbs," he said.

"He is still out with Dr. Mallard."

"They're still on the streets?" Morrow actually groaned. "Where?"

"I—I don't know, sir," Jenny answered, sounding for the second time like a completely clueless moron.

She was going to kill them twice over.

"All right. Agent Shepard, you listen to me. I want you to contact Jethro. Get him on the phone with me in the next hour at the latest. I don't know how to deal with this, and I can't do a thing until I'm apprised of the situation—"

"Director," Jenny interrupted hesitantly, "let me handle it."

Morrow went silent on the line. He cleared his throat.

"As confident in your abilities as I am, Jenny, I can't leave something of this magnitude in your hands while you're still, in paperwork, a probationary field agent—"

"Sir," Jenny interrupted again, "the operative words there are 'in paperwork'. I understand," she paused and took a deep breath. "I understand the precarious nature of what we're potentially dealing with, and I'm capable of handling it."

"And just what do you plan on doing, Agent Shepard?" Morrow barked a little forcefully. She winced again, but she tried not to miss a beat. This was a chance for her to show off her skills and prove herself beyond necessary.

"It wouldn't be wise to discuss details," she said bravely, and heard a sniff of outrage from the impatient director. "But if I can get them out of the country until the fervor dies down, you'll have a hell of an easier job of handling this."

She held her breath; she could hear Morrow trying to find a way to shoot her down. She resisted the urge to yell at him. These men were going to have to start taking her seriously or one of these days she'd show them…

"It's preferable that I speak with Agent Gibbs before we proceed," he said finally.

Jenny almost threw the phone across the room in frustration.

"With all due respect Director Morrow," she said through gritted teeth, "I am in the area and you're not. Whether or not you believe me competent is irrelevant when clearly Jethro and Ducky have forfeited their chance to have any say in the matter by royally screwing things up. You trusted me on the arms tip; I'm asking you to trust me now. I need you cooperation more than you need mine right now—"

"Jennifer," the Director interrupted, softer this time. She still almost jumped through the phone and killed him for using her given name. "Handle this. It's yours." He said, and the line went dead.

She snapped the phone shut and shoved it into her pocket quickly, her head spinning. She shouldn't have spoken to him like that, though it seemed to have worked. Her mind started working over scenarios and possible outs, and she groaned in frustration as she reached for the phone again, realizing she did need to contact Jethro.

A sound at the front of the house stopped her.

She cocked her head and stood still, listening. It sounded like a door was opening. Calmly, she left the study area and walked down the hall, stopping in the foyer just in front of the staircase as the door slowly inched open. She folded her arms, biting her lip hard to refrain from shrieking.

Jethro finally pushed open the door all the way and actually looked ashamed to see her standing there as he realized they were busted. Ducky crept up the stairs behind him, both looking the part of criminals on the run.

She couldn't help herself. She took one look at their faces and:

"WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO?"

* * *

Jethro watched her pace back in forth in the foyer, her phone in her hand. She ran her thumb over the screen soothingly ever few minutes, listening in irritation to their story. Ducky told it, as the first thing Jethro had done was stick his foot in his mouth and caused her to immediately stop speaking to him in anger.

"Let me get this straight," she snapped, stopping the annoying pacing and facing them. "You found a problem with the body at the crime scene, argued with the French officer, and _pushed him off of a cliff_?"

Ducky paused.

"My dear, when you say it like that…" he tried with a small smile. "There was water under the cliff. The poor man is only a bit wet; he wasn't injured! This has all been blown out of proportion." Ducky protested.

"Blown out of proportion or not," Jenny stated through gritted teeth, "We are _screwed_!"

Jethro shifted his weight and stepped forward, tired of remaining silent. She gave him a hostile look as he held out his hand.

"Phone," he said.

She did not hand it over.

"I need to contact Morrow, Jen, give me the phone," he ordered sharply.

She slipped it into her pocket for the first time since they'd arrived and shook her head curtly. She looked him right in the eye.

"I've spoken with the Director. I'm handling this," She informed him shortly.

Jethro studied her tensely, wondering what she meant by that, and stepped closer, looking at Ducky quickly to gauge his reaction.

"You're what?" he asked.

"You heard me, Jethro," she barked. "I am in charge."

"The hell you are," he snapped, clenching his jaw. She raised her eyebrows and her eyes flashed furiously.

"You do not have a say in the matter," she said in a low voice, her features darkening.

Jethro clamped his mouth shut. Ducky remained silent, unsure of what to do in the situation anyway; they were only making it worse with their refusal to work together and their constant need to piss each other off.

"Kasey can deal with this for us," Jethro growled under his breath, and went past Jenny and out the door. She whipped around, shouting at him furiously.

"Ducky. Stay put," she ordered, giving him a glare before storming out after Jethro and slamming the door.

He was halfway down their street when she was able to catch up and grab him roughly. He shook her off and she fell into step beside him, hissing at him angrily.

"Where the hell are you going, Jethro?"

"Precinct," he answered gruffly, not affording her a second glance. Faster than ever before, they found their way onto a busy street, both moving quickly, not caring who saw them or heard their spew.

"Stop," she snapped, grabbing his arm again, tighter this time, and stepping in front of him. "Just stop. Everything you said to me in the kitchen this morning, was that all a bunch of bullshit or do you trust me to take care of this? You can't _barge_ into Kasey's precinct and start demanding amnesty, it will jeopardize everything—"

"On the subject of _jeopardizing_—" he snapped petulantly, glaring at her.

"You and Ducky got yourselves into this mess," Jenny snarled, "I have to get you out. You may not like it; it may _kill_ that over-indulged ego of yours, but _goddamnit_ Jethro you're going to _deal_ with it!"

"You can't handle this, Jen," he scoffed.

He didn't miss the sudden flash of hurt in her emerald eyes when he said it, and somewhere in the back of his mind regretted the words. She released his arm from her vice-like grip and as he started to push past her locked eyes with him.

"Watch me," she threatened, turning to follow him.

She felt like crying with rage she was so pissed at him right now. He dodged through the crowds in front of her while she tried to keep up, swearing up and down she would make him believe in her before this affair was over. Tears stung her eyes and she blinked them back, focusing on a fresh wave of anger and grabbing him again.

He turned and his icy blue eyes flashed at her. Her breath caught in her throat and for a split second, she forgot how to speak at the pure intensity contained there. Then, over his shoulder, she saw what was about to happen before he would even realize it.

She gently released his shirt and turned, stepping away as if she'd made a mistake. The last part of his face she caught was his sudden furrowed brow before she heard the violent shouts of the French police. Ever so slightly, she turned her head and watched one of them yank Jethro's hands behind his back, shouting in French about association and evading; another started rooting around for ID.

He didn't look at her. He kept a poker face and complied with their shouts, understanding few words and the importance of making things as painless as possible. Not that it was already too painful.

Jenny stormed around a corner and found a wall to lean against. She slumped backwards and watched as a few lookers-on walked past; mouths open, eyes wide, no doubt watching them arrest Jethro.

A jolt of stress hit her and sent a throb through her aching head, weighing on her shoulders with the rage she was already feeling. She had the sudden, irrational fear that they would hurt him; she was desperate for them not to hurt him.

She took a deep breath and straightened up a little, steadying herself.

He sure as hell didn't have a say in who was in charge now.

* * *

Leroy Jethro Gibbs had never actually been in prison before. He'd given the local sheriff enough trouble when he was a kid, but he'd never been arrested. Boot camp didn't count, either. In fact, he wasn't sure this counted as prison.

Yes, he was under arrest. He was being detained for aiding and abetting, not to mention illegal status and carrying an unauthorized weapon. He was in a cell. It was dirty, and there were cops around—well, a few. It was getting increasingly later in the night and Jenny had apparently not 'handled this' yet.

He scowled at the bars of his cell from the shadows. He wouldn't put it past her to be letting him sit just to teach him a lesson. He'd spent the last hour thinking up ways to bust himself out, before conceding that would just put them in even hotter water with the authorities, which they didn't need.

He scowled harder at the bars.

If there were others, they were silent. Occasionally he heard scuffling or coughing, and once in a while one of the French cops paraded past his cell and glared at him with a very weak, not at all frightening glare. They were easy to intimidate, these cops. They avoided him.

Jethro muttered to himself under his breath and leaned back, knocking his head against the wall and ignoring the throb in the back of his skull. He considered banging his head again. He was in _Kasey's_ precinct for god's sake, and he'd been stuck in jail for close to six hours. He hadn't seen head or tail of her.

He tilted his head to the side a bit at the sound of soft voices down the hall. A loud yell reached his hears, in French of course, but it sounded like a catcall all the same. He grumbled to himself again, stretching out his legs and fixing the bars of his cell with a glare. Damn Ducky. Damn Ducky and damn Jenny.

"Find yourself interesting to talk to, Jethro?"

Speak of the devil.

He blinked slowly and then, if it was possible, fixed her with a steelier, angrier glare than he'd already been giving to the empty hall. Jenny flashed him a catty grin through the bars and flicked her wrist sharply. The bars jingled. She had _keys_.

The cell door slid open with a bang, courtesy of Jenny slamming it dramatically, and she held up the keys mockingly, making them clink together in the air. He set his jaw and gave her the dirtiest look he could muster before he casually flicked his eyes over her.

He guessed she was the reason for the catcall. She wore some kind of black leather skirt and boots that hugged her calves nicely; her blouse was low cut and adjusted so the lace of her bra peeked out just enough to make you lean forward and try to look. Her hair just looked sexy, as usual.

Jethro looked back at her face and attempted to feign unconcern. She smirked at him and tossed the keys carelessly on the stone bench next to him, strutting forward purposefully. She shook her hair out of her face, pulled a pair of cuffs out of a bag slung over her shoulder, and started to yank him up.

"What are you doing?" he snapped.

"Busting you out of this joint," she responded sharply, tightening her grip on his arm and pulling him harder. He allowed her to get him up and spin him around.

For the second time this trip, she cuffed him, except he wasn't pleased about it this time.

"It's about time," he growled, as she spun him around to face her. She didn't look nearly as playful as she usually did.

"Say the word and I'll leave you here," she hissed.

He swallowed a smartass response simply because she might, and the shorter he was stuck with the French the better.

Jenny pushed him backwards slowly against the wall and lowered her voice. She leaned into him and pulled his head down towards her ear.

"Keep quiet. I've got the patrol cop's confidence; Kasey's keeping the others occupied. I've got papers identifying me as undercover French police and glossing you through if we get stopped—but we won't. Patrol thinks I'm moving you to the embassy,"

Jethro rolled his eyes over her shoulder.

"And you're not?" he asked, thinking it would be the logical place to take him in order to smooth things over.

Her head moved imperceptibly and she pulled back.

"It's a little more unorthodox than a textbook gloss-over," she mouthed off, as if he was supposed to be impressed by her prowess or something.

Jethro glared at her and she smiled tightly, tilting her head.

"What's the matter? Don't like taking orders from me?" she asked unsympathetically.

He jingled the handcuffs slightly in response and turned his mouth into her hair, breathing her in, dropping his forehead to her shoulder and kissing her neck. She remained still for a moment and pushed him away, taking his shoulder and giving him a hard look.

"I'm still mad as hell," she informed him shortly, drawing him towards the open door.

Instead of turning towards the entrance, where the soft voices were coming from, she pushed him the opposite way, taking him down the long hall full of cells. A few catcalls started immediately. Jethro turned a harsh look on the inmates, unsure of what they were saying but determined to kick their asses for it.

Jenny silenced them sharply in French, her voice tight and angry.

"I can walk, Jen," he snapped quietly, annoyed at the alternative pushing and steering she was inflicting on him.

She dug her nails into his shoulder and released him, slipping in front of him and stalking forwards a good distance. He shrugged at her behind her back, content to watch her storm away and appreciate just how short that skirt was.

Jenny stopped suddenly at a metal door and leaned against it, her hand on the deadbolt.

"Enjoying the view?" she asked smartly.

"Am I supposed to feel bad for it?" he retorted nonchalantly.

Jenny allowed him a smirk and threw her weight against the deadbolt, holding a finger to her lips as she unlocked the door as silently as possible and beckoned him out into what appeared to be a parking area for the government police cars.

He gave the cars a suspicious look and turned to Jenny as she worked on re-latching the door from the outside. He noticed that she was wearing leather gloves; her fingerprints would be nowhere.

"Why the stripper get-up?" he asked brazenly.

She didn't bat an eye, but straightened up from locking the door and lifted an eyebrow at him.

"Security cameras will show a whore called in to entertain a few cops. It's easy to get what you want in a leather mini. I liked it. To piss you off. Any reason. Take your pick." She snapped.

Jenny pulled him towards her and spun him around, working the lock on his cuffs so they loosened. She dropped them back in her shoulder bag. He scowled at her.

"What was the point?" he demanded.

"So your fellow criminals wouldn't raise an alarm," she answered derisively. "And so you'd know who was in charge," she added mockingly.

"When are you going to get over that?" he snarled.

Jenny glared at him and jerked her head towards the cars, indicating he shoulder follow her. She surveyed the area alertly, making sure he stayed close behind her, and took out a hairpin from her pocket, inserting it into a keyhole on one of the cars.

Jethro put his hands on either side of her and then pulled her hair off of her neck, pressing his mouth against her bare shoulder lightly. He felt her shiver, even if she tried to resist, and knew it had been too long for either one of them.

"Dammit Jethro," Jenny hissed, maneuvering the hairpin in they lock expertly. He heard a click as he sucked on her neck gently and she opened the car door, walking back into him. He snaked an arm around her waist and secured her against him.

She gripped the car door tightly and shoved her shoulders back, pushing him off.

Jenny twisted slightly and glared up at him, her eyes stony.

"Don't think _that's_ going to solve our problems every time," she warned, squirming out of his grip and ducking into the car. "Get in."

"What the hell are we doing?" he barked, and she almost ripped his vocal cords out for the volume he used. She settled for glowering viciously and he lowered his voice, bending down to look in on her.

She ignored him and proceeded to begin hotwiring the car. He stared.

Jenny touched the ends of two wires together and ran her hands over the wheel, giving him a sharp, annoyed look.

"Jethro, get in the damn car."

He climbed across her. Jenny childishly kneed him in the ribs and tried to make it difficult for him, hissing in outrage when he clambered over her into the passenger seat. He gave her a smug look and threw the seatbelt on.

Jenny jerked the door shut.

"You still think I can't handle this?" she asked tightly, setting the car in gear.

"You got some brilliant plan up your sleeve?" Jethro snapped, suddenly realizing she'd just hotwired a police car. He looked around hesitantly and glared at her harder. "Because this is looking pretty stupid."

"It won't matter once I get you out of the country," she growled, sick and tired of hearing him associate her work with the word 'stupid'.

"_What_?"

Jenny just gave him a look.

"What about Duck?"

"He's got the car, out of town. We've got a two hour drive to meet him in Calais so I can get you two across the channel while Decker pulls a fast one to calm down the authorities so I can charm us out of this once we're in England again," she explained, making it clear she didn't think he deserved to know.

He looked at her skeptically.

"Spectacular," he snapped. "Hot wiring a police car. That will warm them to us."

"It won't matter," she repeated through gritted teeth.

Jethro stared at her sharply across the car, his eyes adjusting and finding hers in the dim light. He wanted to yell at her. He also wanted to drag her into the bag seat and yank that sinful skirt up. He settled for mocking her because he was an egotistical idiot.

"How do you plan on getting us across the channel, Probie?" he growled, reminding himself painfully of Mike Franks and gleaning satisfaction from her annoyance at being called 'probie'.

After a short moment of glaring, she turned towards the windshield, shifting into gear and stepping on the gas worthy of Jethro himself. She sped up recklessly, getting them out onto the streets.

"You planning on swimming?" he asked sardonically.

Jenny glanced at him and smirked.

"I commandeered a boat."

* * *

_If you'll remember, the bit where Gibbs gets arrested is incorporated from a flashback, though I can't quite remember what episode. _


	13. Intoxicated

_A/N: Thanks to aserene!_

**

* * *

**

Jenny Shepard came out of MTAC with a sigh of relief after what had seemed like hours. It was her third trip out of the assessment center, each conference with the Director and the French authorities taking much longer than they should have. She'd also had numerous phone calls to make and a number of people to placate, all while holed up in the unfamiliar environment that was the London field office.

This was where she'd smuggled Jethro and Ducky after successfully getting them out of France on that adorable sailboat she'd commandeered. It hadn't seemed to adorable when the waves had gotten rough, and she'd been forced against her will to ask Jethro to steer it.

She blew hair out of her face and tucked the folder in her hands under her arm as she came down the stairs, holding back a yawn. She hadn't slept since Jethro had woken her up so early yesterday morning, and it was late into the next night. The drive to Calais hadn't been pleasant, the boat had been nerve wracking, and playing politics lost its charm after the fifth hour. She just wanted to sleep.

But she wouldn't dare show she was beat.

The London field office was dimly lit and pretty much devoid of life. A few agents straggled around monitoring things or finishing work, but aside from the techs in MTAC and the director of this post, she, Jethro, and Ducky were the only ones active and alert.

Her colleagues currently sat around a table near a few windows; Ducky sat with excellent posture as per usual and Jethro slouched in his chair, watching her progress down the stairs and across the room.

Jenny stopped behind a third chair and carefully laid the file in her hands on the table in the middle. Ducky smiled at her expectantly. Jethro gave her the same unreadable look she'd been getting from him since she asked him to help her with the boat.

"Ducky. Your arrest warrant has been erased completely from all records bar my memory," she gave him a ghost of a smile and he smirked. "The French authorities are placated. Jethro wasn't carrying either of his IDs, so our covers are intact. I managed to smooth over the little rift that came from us being in the country and operating unauthorized by trading some information—not significant to us," she said, noticing the look on Jethro's face, "but good for them. We have a flight back to Paris in an hour and a half," she stopped and pulled out the chair, sitting down and tucking the stray hairs behind her ears tiredly.

"_And_ I managed to keep NCIS out of it. They still don't know we're in the country," she informed with a secretive glint in her eye.

Jenny put her head down on her arms and buried her face in her sleeves, finally giving into her yawn and hiding it well. She heard Jethro's disbelieving snort.

"Did you neuralyze them or something?" he asked, and she was too shocked by the Men in Black reference and the fact that _Jethro_ had made it to answer right away, even though she had a much better answer. She peeked at him and then rolled her eyes.

"No," she said shortly, and smiled to herself. "I credited our little mishap to the FBI," she murmured into her arm.

Ducky laughed. Jethro snorted.

"Jennifer, you look exhausted," Ducky stated, and quite unnecessarily in Jenny's opinion. She frowned to herself, but didn't say anything because he continued, "Would you like me to get you a cup of coffee?"

Jenny lifted her head and gave him a very grateful look.

"You're a gem, Ducky," she said with relief. He beamed at her and stood up, nodding.

"Is it two sugars? Or three, my dear?" he asked, pausing.

"Black," Jenny answered, closing her eyes and dropping her head back down.

"Oh?" Ducky said. "Ah, well, I suppose Jethro was bound to corrupt you sooner or later," he mused, shuffling off. Jenny bit back a smile and rested her eyes. She really wanted sleep. This skanky outfit was getting less and less comfortable as she got more exhausted.

After a moment, Jethro tugged gently at the band in her hair and pulled it from its ponytail, running his hands through it casually. He leaned over and pulled her chair closer by the leg, turning it towards him a little. Then he touched her shoulders lightly and started working the muscles, massaging her neck.

"Mmm," Jenny mumbled gratefully, forgetting to be angry with him. She hadn't had time to stop and think about whether she was still pissed anyway, and he hadn't been particularly antagonistic since they got across the channel.

There had been a shouting match on the drive to Calais that she attributed to unresolved feelings about the fight before he got himself arrested and discomfort at being in an enclosed space with no room to cool down.

Jethro pushed her hair out of the way and kissed the back of her neck, running his knuckles along her shoulder lightly and watching her skin shiver. He shifted one of his hands off of her shoulder and to her waist, drawing circles on her thigh through the leather skirt.

"You have to stop," she said weakly, in possession of absolutely no self-control at the moment.

She was almost to the breaking point with fatigue, and she hadn't been with him in more than twenty-four hours; put together that was enough to make her reckless. Jethro closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of her hair, nudging her head to the side and finding her ear.

"I've gotta get you in bed, Jen," he whined hoarsely.

She caught his hand and held it on her knee, stroking his knuckles. He lifted his head away from her neck and leaned back, drawing his hand up her leg and leaving it there for her to hold. Ducky placed a paper cup next to her and she sat up, unfolding her unoccupied arm and lifting it.

"Thanks, Ducky," she said warmly, taking a long drink. She didn't even flinch at the bitter taste anymore; now she wouldn't have it any other way.

"I must say I'm impressed, Jenny," Ducky said, leaning back.

Jenny raised her eyebrows over the coffee cup lazily, too busy drinking to keep herself awake and making sure Jethro didn't get too hands-y under the table.

"With what you've accomplished," Ducky elaborated, nodding sagely, "Yes. I'm not sure others would have kept their wits about them so well."

Jenny shrugged. She didn't want to talk about it; her taking charge brought up too many sore points for her and Jethro right now that she wasn't sure were resolved yet and she was too tired to embroil herself in a war of words if that's what it came to again.

"Wouldn't you say so, Jethro?" Ducky asked, turning to look at Gibbs.

Jenny took another gulp of her coffee and rested her head on her palm, giving Jethro a mock expectant look. She had the feeling Ducky was reprimanding Jethro. She must have missed something while she was in MTAC.

"She knows she kicked ass," Jethro said, smirking, "She doesn't need me to tell her."

Jenny smiled and rolled her eyes, taking another drink and turning her eyes into her palm to rest them again. It was, she supposed, the closest she'd get to an acknowledgment of her worth but she still—as needy and annoying as she found it—wanted him to tell her.

* * *

They managed to wrangle seats close together on the plane back to Paris. It was a red-eye flight, not very full, and most people were sleeping, including Jenny. Jethro watched her sharply, wary of the other suspicious looking characters on this flight. It was an inexpensive airline and he didn't trust it.

She'd curled up in what looked like an uncomfortable position against the window, her head pressing into the window. She didn't look like she was sleeping well, and he wouldn't be surprised if she was faking it.

He continued to stare at her, for lack of anything better to do. He'd already memorized every feature of her face. He'd already spent a good deal of time eying the generous glimpse of leg he was getting from beneath her skirt considering her awkward position. He had nothing left to do but watch and think.

He didn't like thinking about her, though. That's when things started to get muddled, and muddled meant dangerous.

"Quit staring at me," she murmured groggily, "it's getting creepy."

He smiled. He knew she hadn't really been asleep; she'd been much too quiet. Jenny opened her eyes bleakly.

"I'm cold," she said, shifting her head. She winced and touched her neck gingerly.

Jethro pushed up the arm rest and beckoned her towards him; Jenny glanced behind them and he shook his head slightly.

"Ducky's asleep," he said, knowing why she hesitated.

Jenny yawned and changed her position, leaning into him and curling up against his side instead of the window. She pillowed her head beneath his chin and closed her eyes swiftly.

"Ducky knows," Jethro said mildly, running his fingers through her hair with interest. "It doesn't matter if he sees."

"It matters to me," she murmured sleepily, and burrowed closer.

She fell asleep almost instantly and even then, didn't say a word for the rest of the flight.

An hour of good sleep seemed to be enough. She still looked tired but she had more energy, or at least showed more when they were figuring out the best and fastest way to get from Charles de Gaulle to their safe house in the suburbs. Jenny turned up her nose at the underground and hailed a cab, telling them NCIS could foot the bill.

The place, Jethro noticed, was how they'd left it; from the paper that had been on the table from the morning they discovered the murder to used coffee mugs and Ducky's slippers in the front hall. Ducky, his eyes red and tired, muttered something about sleeping for the rest of the year and shut the door to his room almost before Jethro had closed the front door.

Jenny leaned against it and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, pulling him towards her and kissing him hungrily. He pulled back a fraction of an inch to breathe and braced his arms on the door next to her shoulders.

"Bed," he gasped.

"Shower," she mumbled, pressing her lips against his again. He shrugged and dropped his hands to her waist. He backed up and pulled her with him, navigating the stairs precariously. Jenny kept a half-hearted eye on the floor to prevent a mishap and opened his door, kicking it shut behind them.

She shimmied off her boots and let him half carry her into the bathroom in his impatience. He reached behind him into the shower and started the water, turning the faucet immediately to hot. He pushed her against the wall and kissed her again, shoving open the shower curtain without looking at it.

Clothes and all, he pulled her into the shower with him and let the hot water soak them through. Jenny gasped at the shock of temperature change, opening her eyes wide and curling her toes.

"Jethro," she managed sharply, touching his face and his wet hair caressingly, staring into his blazing blue eyes.

His hands were at her skirt now, drawing it down her legs, peeling off wet panties and pushing up the hem of her shirt.

"I'm not your probie," she told him fiercely, "not anymore. Not after this," he didn't know what she was referring to, the affair or the nightmare she'd just gotten them out of.

He knocked her hands down and pressed her back into the tile wall, pinning her hands against it and lacing his fingers into hers, gripping her tightly. She tilted up her neck with a moan and he kissed down her throat.

"Let's fight about this later," he muttered into her shoulder, letting his wet hands slide down her arms. She struggled with his wet jeans, biting her lip in a moment of frustration when the sodden fabric wouldn't cooperate with her.

Jethro removed her thin shirt and drew his mouth lower on her chest, pulling her towards him while she unbuttoned his shirt and shucked if off his shoulders. He found the strap of her lace bra and pulled it slowly down her shoulder, cupping her breast in one hand.

"Oh, god, Jethro," she breathed, arching into him.

Water ran in her eyes; dripping from her hair and catching in her mouth when she kissed him wherever she could reach, glad for the steady sound of running water to muffle any sounds. Jethro lifted her up and she wrapped her legs around his waist, trying to blink steaming water out of her eyes.

His hands knotted into her hair, he pulled, the wet curls slipping through his fingers, and thrust into her, catching her opened mouth in a long kiss. She wrapped her arms around his neck tightly, implicitly trusting him not to slip and injure them both. His muscles rippled under his skin, already warm in the clean water.

"Harder," she whispered hoarsely, turning her face into his cheek, breathing in his damp hair.

Forty-eight hours was too damn long to remain celibate. He was the best stress-reliever around.

Jenny dug her nails into his shoulder and moaned his name, trying to catch her breath. She bit his shoulder, her stomach tightening as his mouth found every inch of her slick skin and tasted her, his pace growing more urgent.

"Come on, Jethro," she moaned, wrapping her arms around his head.

He almost hurt her he was so rough, but he broke her control and sent her climax crashing over her. She muffled her cries in his shoulder and took satisfaction in the string of words he mumbled against her neck, his hands slipping from her shoulders to her waist and then her legs as he caught his breath.

Jenny shivered and cleaved into him, letting the hot water soak them both, drawing her breath slowly to even it out. She loosened her grip on him gently and touched his face, pushing her forehead against his.

"Don't move," she whispered, compressing her lips. She opened her eyes and looked at him, her vision blurry through the torrent of water. He nudged her chin up and she closed her eyes slightly again.

"Kiss me," she ordered softly. He did. He pushed his tongue into her mouth and drank her in, saturating his senses with her as much as he could, leaving no room for anything else. She couldn't breathe again when he finally let her pull away.

Jethro reached up and pushed her thick hair back, shoving it off of her face and shaking it over her back, touching her cheek and the column of her neck lightly, his fingers grazing her skin teasingly and making her nerves jump again.

"You're a damn good agent, Jen," he said huskily. It was all she wanted to hear. His finger twisted around a curl and he let it slip off his finger, watching it bounce back and frame her wild eyes beautifully. She smirked and leaned in, tilting her head and half-closing her eyes again.

"Get the soap," she whispered against his lips, and kissed him again.

* * *

Jenny lay on her stomach in bed with him, her eyes closed, her arms above her head, letting him run his hand up and down her back as he wished. He was on his side next to her, his legs still tangled up in hers. He slowly adjusted his position and propped his head up on his palm.

"Care to mix work and play?" he asked, drawing small circles on the back of her shoulders with his index finger.

"Mmm," Jenny mumbled, "What do you think we've been doing this entire mission?" she asked.

Jethro smirked. Jenny turned her head so she was looking at him and blinked her eyes open, looking at him neutrally.

"You want to re-asses before we get back out there," she stated, in tune with his thought process. He nodded, reaching into her tangled hair to comb out the knots and brush his knuckles across her neck. Jenny wriggled closer to him.

"Go for it," she mumbled.

"He was shot execution style, body dumped in the park. Ducky believes he wasn't killed there but the scene was staged perfectly. He had a lot of incriminating evidence linking him to crimes on him."

"Someone's laying blame on him because he's dead," Jenny deducted, "getting the heat off themselves."

"Yeah,"

He wrapped a lock of his hair around her finger and let it slide off slowly, watching how it curled easily and stayed that way against her neck. He twisted another lock, closer to her cheek this time. She raised an eyebrow at him mildly.

"Kasey's thoughts?"

"That it was unconnected to us."

"She doesn't know about the caricature shop," Jenny said, with a small shrug.

Jethro nodded, rubbing his foot against her calf under the sheets.

"Decker?" he asked, leaning forward to kiss her shoulders.

Jenny took her time answering, too busy enjoying his kisses for the time being.

"He doesn't think it was coincidence. We both went straight to the Intel; our dead guy was intricately connected. Deck thinks he was suspected of leaking the information on that bust NCIS got in the Czech Republic," she answered slowly.

He could tell by the unconcern in her voice that she was trying to resist sleep. He only felt a little bad for keeping her up since they'd returned from London.

"His associates?"

Jenny licked her lips. Her eyes were closed again, and he knew he was being distracting and soothing her into sleep with his gentle touch, but he knew she'd kill him if he stopped and he preferred to keep touching. After a second, she gave him the names of the associates.

Jethro paused and lifted his mouth from her back, giving the back of her head a look. He drew his hand over her waist and splayed it across her lower back, pressing his fingertips into her fair skin lightly.

"The guys from the café?" he asked sharply.

Jenny nodded nonchalantly. She wasn't listening too carefully or she could have lashed out at him for that reminder. Jethro frowned slightly.

"The ones you introduced yourself to?" he asked with a low growl in his voice.

Jenny's eyes opened slowly and she studied his face. Deliberately, she nodded, even though he knew she didn't appreciate the tone or the suggestion she'd blown the op. Jethro gave her an unreadable look and refused to let her look away.

"Jen," he said quietly, "that night you went off the grid. You went after them," he watched her features for a reaction. Her lips tightened ever so slightly and her eyes may have flickered, but other than that, nothing. No sign that he'd hit the nail on the head but somehow he knew he had.

"Did you interact with them?" he asked shortly.

Jenny didn't answer. He gritted his teeth, unwilling to start a fight when they were just getting over the last one. But if these three guys had been close comrades, and one ended up dead as a leak at the hands of the other two, it could be connected to Jenny's interaction with them. Jethro was starting to wonder where exactly the tip on that deal had come from.

He touched her cheek gently and ignored the guarded, potentially hostile look in her eye. If her guys had been on surveillance watching the third, and saw Jenny, it would have caused suspicion. The same American woman showing up around their colleagues? He could strangle her for pulling that stunt.

Jenny held his gaze. He pulled the curl he'd twisted that rested on her cheek and stroked her cheek again, shifting his head closer to hers on his palm.

"Can either of them recognize you, Jen?" he asked quietly, demanding an answer this time.

He half expected her to start in on him. She narrowed her eyes a little, but after a moment the tensed muscles in her mouth and forehead relaxed and he swore she looked wary if not worried behind her guarded green eyes.

She nodded.

He didn't say a word. His blood ran a little colder at the thought. Under cover ops were dangerous and sticky enough, and when it came to always looking over your shoulder just to be sure they often got stressful and too hard to handle. The last thing he wanted was her at risk, and she might be after this.

Wordlessly, he touched her under her chin and just gave her a look. She'd catch his reprimand without him having to say a word, but he was less angry now than alert and concerned. She wasn't just some stupid probie who had messed up. She was worth more than that to him, she was better than most, and she was a woman; that all along had his instincts crawling not to let her out of his sight in these dangerous streets.

"It's almost morning," Jenny murmured, turning half onto her back and curving her arm under her neck to pillow her head. She blinked slowly, sleep still heavy in her eyes even though she hadn't gotten any, and looked at him warily. She was expecting a lecture, and she was sluggish with fatigue. She'd been up more than forty-eight hours now.

Jethro looked over her at the alarm clock and lifted his eyebrows slightly. He tugged the sheets down gently from around her upper midsection and pushed her onto her back, leaning forward and dropping kisses to the front of her shoulders this time. She threaded her fingers into his hair.

He ran his hand over her ribs and her abdomen, finding her thigh and lifting it so he could stroke her along the inside. He moved to kiss her neck, his tongue touching the indention behind her ear. She shifted closer to him under his ministrations and he found her mouth, opening his eyes to look at her while he lingered at her lips.

"You're intoxicating," he murmured.

He kissed her slowly.

Jenny smiled and wormed her hands up to touch his face. He ran his hand up higher on her leg and she bit her lip, tilting her head back and fluttering her eyes. He watched the bridge of her nose blush pale pink and smirked, pulling her closer to him.

"Can't get enough of you, Jenny," he whispered against her lips, kissing along her jaw and down her throat.

He slipped a finger inside her and listened to her quiet intake of breath. She ran her hands from his face to his shoulders, holding onto him. He placed open mouthed kisses on her collar bone and thrust his fingers until her eyes opened, dark with arousal, and she drew her bottom lip into her mouth with a moan.

"Jethro," she pleaded, her breath hitching in her throat. She writhed under his hand and buried her head in his shoulder, arching towards him. He continued, taking cue from the sounds she made, until she dug her nails into his shoulder and cried out and shivered against him.

Her shoulders relaxed and she loosened her vice-like grip on him, opening her mouth on his neck to catch her breath. Jethro gingerly moved around her shaking arms and propped his head up again on his palm, watching as she slowly eased off her high and leaned back.

Her hair spilled over the pillows in disarray, her skin was flushed an enticing color of rose-pink, her eyes were bright and lazy, her lips pursed slightly. Jethro moved his hand gently and ran it over her knee and up her thigh, splaying it finally over her flat stomach again. He stared at her, burning the image of her undone in his arms into his mind. Jenny bit her lip again gently and wet them, her breathing evened out.

"Jen," Jethro said gruffly. He leaned forward and kissed her roughly, unfairly stealing her breath again and drawing is knuckles lightly up her abdomen to her breasts. He bent down closer to her, wanting to see the spark in her emerald eyes when he touched her, and cupped her gently.

She sighed.

"God, you're beautiful," he murmured, nuzzling her jaw with his nose and mouth. Her cheeks colored slightly and he found it amusing that that, of all things, made her blush.

Jenny moved his hands easily and pushed him over, crawling over him and straddling his waist. She looked at him silently, a small smile on her face. Her eyes, soft and pleased, tired and stunning, stopped his heart in a way nothing had in a long time.

He swallowed hard, feeling things shift imperceptibly between them.

Jenny leaned forward and pressed her mouth against his passionately, probing the confines of his mouth with her tongue. Jethro wrapped his arms around her waist and held her tightly against his chest, kicking the sheets off of them fully.

Sleep be damned.

* * *

_Nueralyzer: The red, flashy thing used in Men in Black 1&2 to zap people's memories. I was watching the first one while I typed this. :]_


	14. Sawdust

_A/N: Thanks to aserene! ...I'm doing spectacularly bad in Algebra. Cheer me up._

* * *

"_JEN_!"

Jenny Shepard backed away from the stove and covered her mouth, half abashed and half amused. Jethro glared at her before he switched on the fire extinguisher he'd acquired miraculously out of nowhere and sprayed down the flames on the stove. Instantly, the fire was doused in white foam and before she realized what was happening, Jethro had turned the extinguisher on her and covered her, too, in the foamy discharge.

She gasped and squealed, ducking her head and raising her hands for cover. He laughed loudly at her reaction and she snapped her head up when he stopped spraying her, glaring at him viciously.

"JETHRO! What is _wrong_ with you?" she demanded, flicking her hands at him and trying to inflict some of the goo on him.

He sobered up and gave her a stern look.

"Precautionary maneuver," he informed her.

He received a darker glare.

"I was not on fire!" she protested, snatching the fire extinguisher away from him and scowling at him menacingly.

"You could have been," he pointed out stubbornly, "I didn't know. I hear you screaming like there's a crawly thing, come in and see flames, what am I supposed to think?"

Jenny crinkled her nose at him in annoyance and set the fire extinguisher down with a menacing _clang_. The dark smoke started to lighten up a little but the burning smell in the kitchen lingered; Jethro smirked arrogantly and then gave a pointed look to the stovetop.

"How did you manage to set toast on fire?" he asked mockingly.

Jenny pointed at him sharply, narrowing her eyes.

"It conspired against me," she insisted.

"Jen, you don't cook toast in a frying pan."

"I do!"

"No, you don't. You demolished it."

Jenny narrowed her eyes to tiny little slits and poked him in the chest.

"I was checking on the eggs," she snapped. Jethro looked pointedly at the mess on the floor and back at her, grabbing her hand and giving the poking finger back to her loftily. He picked up one of the unharmed pans and held it expertly. He made a flipping motion with it.

"How did the pancakes get on the floor?" he asked patronizingly. He took another look at the stuff he was standing by. "They are pancakes, right?"

Jenny smacked him in the shoulder. Jethro reached out and smeared a glob of fire extinguisher goo under her eyes like war paint. Jenny swatted his hand away and snapped at his fingers with her teeth playfully.

"Do not talk to me like I am a chastised child, Jethro!" she warned.

He gave her a blank look and she hid a small smile and simplified the reprimand a little.

"Stop yelling at me!"

"You almost _burned_ down our safe house, Jen, you want me to give you a pat on the head?" he asked, giving her a disbelieving look.

"You pat me on the head and you _die_," she hissed in a warning tone. Then she shook her finger at him in mock disapproval and scowled, knitting her eyebrows together. "I thought it would be nice to make an actual breakfast, and you're mocking me," she reprimanded.

Jethro smirked and reached for her shoulders, pulling her towards him and running his fingers through her hair until he got it good and tangled with the foam mess. Jenny gasped in outrage and squirmed at him, kicking his feet with hers. He laughed, his breath tickling her ear, and said:

"Maybe I should make breakfast," he teased.

Jenny pinched his side and he loosened his grip, glaring briefly.

"Only if I can kiss the cook," she retorted, raising an eyebrow.

Jethro grasped the ends of her sticky hair and tilted her head back to kiss her. Jenny laughed. She finally managed to wriggle free of his grip and shook her hands, looking down over herself as he started moving crispy, ruined food off of the stove and to the side. When he looked back at her, she was glaring at him again.

"Was this necessary?" she asked, standing there covered in melting and decorative white foam, looking like someone had covered her in foaming dish wash and packing peanuts. Jethro nodded solemnly.

He turned away from the stove and looked her up and down with a lopsided grin and a good-for-nothing glint in his blue eyes. Jenny gave him a suspicious look. He shrugged and titled his head.

"You look like a snow monster," he said.

Jenny narrowed her eyes and curled her fingers at him like claws. He turned and went towards the refrigerator; Jenny pounced on him and jumped up his back, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"I'll show you monster!" she threatened, wrapping her legs around his waist.

Jethro opened managed to keep his balance and steady hear, grabbing her thighs so she wouldn't upset his weight and make him fall. He opened the refrigerator and Jenny pulled his hair immaturely. He swatted at her as he surveyed the contents and she just retaliated by pulling his ear into her mouth and biting gently.

Jethro ran his hand up and down her thigh and found the carton of eggs Jenny had not managed to incinerate on one of the shelves. She stopped attempting to block his thought process with her tongue and rested her chin on his shoulder, looking into the fridge.

After a few seconds, she slipped off his back and wriggled under his arm, coming up in front of him and between him and the fridge. She bent forward and opened the drawers at the bottom, picking out an apple and turning around. She leaned forward and placed a kiss to the corner of his mouth before ducking back under his arm and retreating to the middle of the kitchen while he got out the necessary materials to make an actual edible meal.

He pushed the fridge door shut and returned to the stove, setting out the eggs, bacon, and other items away from Jenny's blackened breakfast and giving her a superior look. Jenny looked at him innocently, holding her apple with her arms crossed.

"I can't cook," she informed him matter-of-factly.

"I noticed," he smirked.

Jenny just glared at him and bit into the apple with a loud crunch. Jethro adjusted the knobs on the stove and stepped up to it, finding the spatula and deciding it wasn't too affected by the fire incident to be re-used. Jenny peeked over his shoulder and then hopped up on the counter next to him, crossing one leg over the other and scooting as close to him as possible without actually sitting on the burners.

He looked her over from bare ankle to sparkling eyes, appreciative of the gesture. Jenny took another obnoxious bit of the apple and waved it at him as she chewed thoughtfully, a teasing glint in her eye.

"I used to sit on my History professor's desk like this while he graded papers," she mused, tilting her head at him.

Jethro looked up from the pan he was examining and squinted his eyes at her searchingly.

"That's not appropriate," he said sarcastically, looking over her long, all too enticing legs again.

"We were dating," Jenny informed him solemnly. She smiled at him behind the apple when he gave her a half-annoyed, half-shocked look.

"How old where you?" he asked suspiciously.

Jenny schooled her features innocently.

"Nineteen."

He glared at her silently. Jenny smirked and took yet another bite of the apple, wrinkling her nose at the look on his face. It hadn't taken but one mention of a previous boyfriend in a past conversation for her to realize Jethro reacted negatively to the thought of her with other men.

It was fun to make him brood over it. It usually gave him the drive to show her just how much better he was than any other man she had _ever_ dated.

"Jealous?" she asked sweetly.

Jethro cracked an egg in the pan and picked up the used spatula again.

"I don't want to think about it," he muttered darkly.

Jenny cocked her head at him with interest. She nibbled on the apple and watched him poke around the eggs expertly without managing to splatter them everywhere like she inevitably would (and had).

"How old was _he_?" Jethro grumbled darkly.

Jenny smirked.

"Older," she answered sweetly. She swallowed the last of her mouthful and reached out with a free hand to draw her fingers down his cheek. "I like older men," she informed him, curling her lips in a smile.

He snorted.

Jethro reached for the packaged container of bacon and tore it open silently, reaching across her lap lazily to grab a napkin from the corner. Jenny raised her eyebrow at him, reprimanding, and gave him a look.

"Do you like younger women, Jethro?" she asked in a secretive whisper before he could turn back to cooking. She shifted her legs and snaked one in between his to wrap it around his thigh while he stood in front of the stove.

"I like you," Jethro answered shortly.

Jenny afforded him a mildly surprised look.

"Sweet," she commented warily, and then narrowed her eyes. "Very safe answer. Two ex-wives have taught you well," she teased, hiding her smirk from his glare behind a bit of the apple she was working her way through.

Jenny quieted down and ran her foot up and down his thigh lazily, leaning back so her head rested against the cabinets and she could watch both the food and his face as he repaired the damage she'd done to breakfast.

"I like you, too," she commented.

Jethro smirked.

"I picked up on that," he said arrogantly. Jenny wrinkled her nose at him and didn't respond, returning to watching him cook.

She ate the apple slowly while he finished up breakfast, making it look all too easy and mouthwatering at the same time. Jenny watched him flip a pancake over easily without tossing it onto the floor and turned her eye on the sizzling bacon.

"Is this how you attract women?" she asked mockingly. "It's very sexy," she added conspiratorially when he glanced up at her suspiciously.

Stealthily, she set down her now finished apple next to her and inched her fingers toward the frying pan full of bacon. Sneaking a glance at Jethro, she started to snatch one when he flicked his hand out and smacked her in the thigh with the spatula.

Shocked, Jenny let out a sharp cry of protest and glared at him. Jethro smirked and went back to examining his pancakes. Jenny continued to glare at the side of his head until he turned off the burner and shifted towards her, leaning against the oven's handle and touching the red mark on her thigh. Jenny removed her leg from around his pointedly and pursed her lips at him.

Jethro set down the spatula reverently and traced his finger in a circle around the mark on her leg, trying to coax a smile out of her. She bit the inside of her lip and refused to comply, set on maintaining an offended air.

"Don't think you can have first pick of the good stuff 'cause you're sleeping with the cook," he informed her soberly.

Jenny smiled against her will.

"I just wanted a piece of bacon," she mumbled, puckering her lips in a pout.

Jethro picked one up out of the pan and held it out to her gallantly, his eyes glinting mischievously.

"It wasn't ready yet," he said simply, moving the piece closer to her.

Jenny leaned forward and clamped her teeth down on it, pulling it out of his hands. He snorted, and uncrossed her legs without her consent to step in between them and lean against the counter facing her.

"And now?" she asked, biting off a section of the crispy bacon.

"It's perfect," he bragged.

Jenny chewed thoughtfully and then nodded approvingly.

"Who knew you were such a chef," she mused, tweaking him on the nose like a child. He gave her a dirty look and scowled. Jenny finished the bacon with a half-smirk and watched Jethro play with the drawstrings on her sleep shorts. He started pulling at a few loose threads on her t-shirt and flicked off flecks of white foam on her thigh to be annoying. Jenny glanced down at the shirt she was wearing and narrowed her eyes.

"You ruined this shirt," she informed him with a glare.

Jethro looked at it more closely too and remained neutral. His clothes had mysteriously disappeared into the wash last night and he'd been left with a pair of boxers and the 'I-love-Paris' shirt Jenny had purchased, which she'd managed to get on him with some persuasive language. She'd ended up in it this morning—somehow—and it was twice as big on her and twice as alluring.

Except now it was drenched in water and fire extinguisher foam.

"Oops," was all he could come up with to say.

Jenny reached around and tapped him lightly in the back of the head. She started poking him repeatedly in the chest.

"You did it on purpose," she hissed playfully.

"Just wash it, Jen," he placated, shrugging. He picked up a piece of bacon from the pan and ate it, suddenly realizing he was practically starving. He swallowed his mouthful and went back to the hem of the shirt, tugging upwards this time.

"It's the principal of the matter!" Jenny shrieked dramatically, squirming. "You tried sabotage! You are attempting to—hey!" she broke off when he shoved the material up her midsection and exposed her abdomen to the cool kitchen air.

"I'll wash it," he repeated, giving her a wicked look, "just take it off."

"You," she hissed, trying to bat him away even though he was tangling her arms in the shirt, "are a devious man, Leroy Jethro Gibbs!" she ran her foot up the inside of his thigh in an attempt to distract him to no avail. "You had a _double_ secret agenda!"

He tickled her sides mercilessly and she dissolved into giggles, trying to fight him off feebly. She slipped off the counter, her heels banging against the cabinet behind her and leaned against him, ordering him to stop between gasps of breath.

He finally relented and she burst into laughter, hiding her face in his neck. Jethro smiled into her hair and pulled her shirt back down in defeat, allowing her to—sort of—win this one. He released her and reached behind her to bring down some plates from the cabinet behind her head.

Jenny ducked under his arm and out of the way, sinking to the floor next to him and looking up to watch him fill her plate. Without a question as to why she was on the floor, he handed the plate down to her and sat down next to her.

"Where's Ducky?" he asked suddenly, wondering why the M.E. hadn't come running at all the noise and smoke.

"He was going out for a walk when I got up," Jenny answered. She stretched her legs out in front of her and balanced her plate on her knees, stabbing her pancake with the plastic fork Jethro had bestowed upon her.

They ate in comfortable silence on the hardwood floors, leaning up against the bottom cabinets next to the stove while the leftover food got cold.

"You're a good cook," Jenny complimented simply.

"You're a terrible cook," he retorted with a small smile.

Jenny wrinkled her nose and stuck her tongue out at him.

Jethro smirked at her and she shook her head with a pretty smile, her eyes taking on that soft, relaxed look that he'd noticed she got when she was completely at ease and happy. She looked stunning like this. Tempted to touch her suddenly, he lifted his arm and draped it around her shoulders casually, cushioning her back against the cabinets.

Jenny looked mildly surprised—he knew she just wasn't expecting the unprompted display of affection—but turned all the same and leaned more into his side, tilting her head back against his shoulder.

"Jethro," she said, letting his name linger until he answered.

"What?"

Jenny hesitated. She wasn't sure what she'd been about to say. In the lull of conversation, she finished off the last of her food slowly and swallowed, nestling back against him and moving her plate to set it on the floor.

"We have no idea what the hell we've gotten into," she said quietly, a statement that didn't require an answer. She simply stated it because she couldn't work out what she'd wanted to say and that pretty much summed it all up anyway.

She felt Jethro's shoulders tense minutely, and she smirked to herself. He without a doubt assumed she wanted to launch into a stereotypical 'where is our relationship going' conversation, and the last thing she wanted to do was start harping on about that when she didn't even know what the hell their 'relationship' _was_.

"You wanna go out to dinner tonight?" Jethro asked out of the blue.

Jenny smiled impishly and shifted her head to look up at him at an angle. Her green eyes danced playfully and she lifted a perfect eyebrow archly.

"Like a date?" she asked mockingly, drawing a smile from him as well. She gave him a knowing look and laughed, nodding her head.

Like everything else she'd ever experienced with him, it was backwards and yet completely Jethro at the same time. How he could manage being so painstakingly predictable and traditional while at the same time completely blowing her mind with his surprising behavior would forever be a mystery she never wanted to solve.

It was much too intriguing and interesting to find out the secret.

"Yeah, Jethro, I'll go on a date with you," she teased. "Will this date include teaching me another rule?"

"Then it wouldn't be a date. It would be work," he answered just as mockingly.

"I'm getting a little confused as to which is which," Jenny whispered loudly at him, arching an eyebrow again.

Jethro pulled her in closer, dragging her halfway into his lap, and buried his face in her hair, pressing his lips behind her ear. He closed his eyes and memorized the steady rhythm of her pulse for a moment before he mumbled in response:

"Who gives a damn."

* * *

Jenny nodded politely at the waiter as he set her salad down in front of her and retreated silently. She watched Jethro give the young man a dark, threatening look as he walked away from their table. Smirking to herself, Jenny picked up her fork and pointed it at Jethro.

"_Why_ are you giving that poor boy such a rude glare?" she asked, lifting an eyebrow as she pushed around her salad to mix up the dressing.

"I don't like the way he's looking at you," Jethro answered, narrowing his eyes at her.

Jenny rolled her eyes and picked up her knife to fold over her lettuce leaves, giving Jethro a patronizing look.

"'The way he's looking at me'?" Jenny repeated. "He doesn't mean anything by it, Jethro," she soothed, shifting her chair forward and leaning back.

"Jen," he said, as if he were explaining something to a very small child, "he tried to put your napkin in your lap _for_ you."

Jenny smiled sweetly.

"The operative word being '_tried'_," she said, picking up her drink. She'd put pain to that gesture before the waiter had gotten very far.

"I don't like him," Jethro retorted with finality.

Jenny smirked at him indulgently over the edge of her glass and tasted the wine he'd ordered. She set the glass back down and went back to her salad, crossing her ankles under the table and taking a bite. She held out the second bite towards Jethro.

"Want to taste my salad?"

"I don't eat rabbit food."

Jenny snorted and shrugged. They were in a softly lit Italian place in the city that Jethro had picked, mysteriously knowing her preference for the cuisine. He'd chosen the wine, too, insisting that she'd like it—which she did—and she'd asked him jokingly if his ego was going to let her order her own entrée or if he'd like to pick it for her.

He'd just rolled his eyes at her and let her order Spaghetti Carbonara.

He watched her eat, more interested in the way she twirled her fork and moved her lips than he should be. He liked to watch her; he liked to look at her. Jenny was twice as interesting to stare at as any other woman because she was almost unreadable. He couldn't ever quite figure out what the hell was going through her mind, or what she was planning on doing next.

"The bane of your life is back," she said in a stage whisper, nodding slightly over his shoulder as the waiter reappeared. Jethro assumed his dark glare again and leaned back so the boy could give them their food.

"_Merci_," Jenny said to him saccharinely, just to annoy Jethro. She set down her fork and moved her salad out of the way to make room. She smirked at Jethro over the waiter's arm and he glared at her. Under the table, he placed his hand on her knee and squeezed.

Jenny gasped and dropped her mouth into her palm when the waiter looked at her in question. She rested her elbow on the table and giggled, her nose crinkling with embarrassment. The waiter straightened up, asked if they needed anything else, and to that Jenny just shook her head slowly and waited until he retreated again.

Jenny delivered a swift kick to his calf.

He just smiled and toasted her with his wine glass. Jenny lifted her head and rested her arm down on the table, glaring at him. Jethro drew his knuckles up and down her knee teasingly.

"Stop it," she said seriously, "stop it or I will move my chair to the other side of the table," she threatened. The chairs at the restaurant were set up close to each other instead of on opposite ends of the little circular tables.

He raised an eyebrow at her. Jenny twirled noodles around her fork and nodded solemnly. He stroked her knee again and, when she didn't move, smiled triumphantly at calling her bluff. He picked up his knife and started slicing up his Chicken Parmesan, casually removing his hand from Jenny's leg even though he was incredibly reluctant to do so.

Jethro set his knife down and picked up his fork, looking up to watch Jenny again. His eyes traced the curls in her hair where they met her shoulders and rested against bare skin. Her neck and shoulders were exposed to a certain extent; the neckline of her light purple sweater was cut low and flattering. He kept getting distracted by how good she looked but opted not to take the bait, because that would mean letting her win. Her lipstick was different; not the subtle red she usually wore working but a quiet mauve color.

He picked up his wine glass and took a generous drink to clear his head.

"Decker stumbled on some information connected to stuff you fed him last week," he mumbled in an undertone, eating casually, "May involve a stakeout."

"This is not a work oriented dinner," Jenny admonished, pointing her fork at him menacingly. Jethro gave her a look and she lifted her eyebrows. "I love stakeouts," she added solemnly, retracing her steps.

"You _sleep_ through stakeouts," he retorted with a glare. Anytime they'd been on one in the States, and in Marseille, she'd ended up sleeping while he did most of the watching and for reasons that were much clearer now he'd always let her get away with it.

"You're a nice pillow," she said, tilting her head. She smiled beautifully and picked up her drink, tipping it back and forth to swirl the liquid absently before she lifted it to her lips. She took a small sip and licked her lips, examining the dark wine with interest. Slowly, she looked at him over the rim of her glass and inclined her head.

"You think anyone meant for this to happen?" she inquired musingly.

"Yeah, I think Morrow stuck me with you so we'd sleep together in Marseille," Jethro answered, deadpan.

Jenny snorted and set her glass down.

"I meant," she said slowly, giving him a look, "did everyone know? Besides us?"

Jethro cocked an eyebrow at her like she was talking nonsense. He swallowed and propped his elbow up on the table, ignoring basic etiquette.

"Pacci owes Stan twenty bucks," he informed her by way of answer. Jenny smirked.

Jethro flashed a grin at her and she uncrossed her legs under the table, her knee brushing against his. She started eating again, finished with the conversation. She was easy to be around because of just that; she followed her train of thought out loud sometimes and never demanded to know what he was feeling or thinking like any other woman would.

Jethro finished his food and sat quietly for a moment, glancing over her shoulder at the people around them. He slipped his hand up her black skirt under the tablecloth and she hissed under her breath sharply, her head snapping up as she glared at him. He, in turn, received the shock of his life.

"Warn me before you do that!" Jenny growled, turning her head towards him.

"You're not wearing—"

She lifted an eyebrow and smirked.

"Could've warned _me_ about _that_," he snapped.

"It wouldn't be an issue if you would behave!"

He glared at her this time and fell silent, moving his hand backward just a little to trace the inside of her thigh. After a moment, he started again:

"_Why_ aren't you wearing—"

"You're not going to let it go, are you?" she asked with a secretive smile.

"No."

Jenny sighed and leaned closer, sweeping up her drink again.

"Because," she said slowly, looking at him through her thick eyelashes, "I assumed by the time we got back you'd prefer not having to wait for me to," she paused teasingly and lowered her voice, "take them off."

"Touché," he said, lifting his own drink.

Jenny went back to finishing her food, a slower eater than he, until after a moment she set her fork down pointedly and glared at him.

"Remove your hand or lose it," she threatened seriously.

Slowly, he slid his hand down her leg, ran it lightly over her knee and finally removed it, receiving another annoyed glare.

"I'm perfectly capable of resisting you, you know," she informed him, twirling noodles around her fork again matter-of-factly. Jethro snorted derisively at her and she mock-scowled at him. Jenny nodded to reinforce her statement.

"Yeah?" he asked, lifting his eyebrows.

"Mmm-hmm," she murmured through a mouthful.

"What about this afternoon?"

Jenny paused, thinking back to when she'd decided she needed to clean up the mess she'd made in the kitchen.

"That," she finally decided, "was your fault."

"Right. I dragged _you_ onto the kitchen table," he retorted sarcastically.

"Yes, Jethro, _you_ did," she reminded him deliberately.

"Fine," he conceded, narrowing his eyes. "Before we left?" he tried.

Jenny lowered her eyes, biting back a smile. So that had been completely her fault, but it didn't mean she had to own up to it. When she looked back up he was smirking at her arrogantly and her cheeks flushed slightly.

"Wipe that smirk off your face," she mumbled.

Jethro laughed quietly. He shifted his offending hand onto the table and touched hers, lacing his fingers through hers and pressing his fingertips into her knuckles. Jenny watched him do it, raised her eyebrows, and finished her food, letting him stroke her hand on the table.

Jenny thought it was sweet.

"You look good, Jen," he complimented, flipping her hand over and tracing the lines on her palm lazily. She titled her head at him slightly and smiled to herself. If he was trying to flatter her into leaving, it was working. She was done eating anyway.

Jenny wrapped her fingers around his hand and pulled his arm towards her, trailing her fingers up his wrist. She looked up at him through her lashes again and took a last drink of her wine before she set it back down and leaned over. He inclined his head towards her.

"I'm ready to go if you are," she said, placing a kiss behind his ear.

Jethro raised his hand for the check as soon as he caught a glimpse of their waiter.

Jenny folded her arms across her the moment they stepped outside, surprised at the cool temperature. The breeze didn't help any, raising chill bumps on her arms even though she wore a long-sleeved blouse. It hadn't been quite this chilly earlier. Jethro sensed the change in her demeanor when she shifted closer to him and slipped off his jacket, tossing it across her shoulders casually.

Jenny snuggled into it and smirked. Jethro snaked one arm around her waist and put the other in his pocket. Walking back towards their safe house, towards the outskirts of the city, she spent more time looking at the brightly lit sights than thinking about something to say.

She lifted her hand suddenly and looked up at the black sky, looking at the smoky clouds and half-full moon overhead.

"It's starting to rain," she murmured quietly, looking at the few drops on her hand. She wrinkled her nose as another hit her in the face and looked back down.

"It's supposed to storm," Jethro answered gruffly.

"It better not," Jenny muttered darkly. He looked down at her with a lifted eyebrow and she shrugged slightly.

"I hate storms."

Jethro started to say something, but Jenny squealed suddenly as it started raining a little harder than just sporadic sprinkles. She started to reach up and cover her head but Jethro caught her hand and knocked it down. She made a noise of outrage.

Jenny hugged herself tighter as the soft rain started to soak her through and Jethro kept thwarting her attempts to cover her hair, running his hand through it instead and throwing it all over her face in disarray.

"Jethro!" she cried, her voice caught in the trap of rain and elevated wind. He smirked and withdrew his arm from around her, dragging her a few feet down the street and into a dark, empty alleyway where the rain fell into puddles on the ground.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, struggling with him. He pushed her against the wall of a building and drew her hair back off of her face, running his hands up her neck. She lifted her arms up and tried to stop him, but ended up with her hands on his shoulders instead as he leaned forward and kissed her hard.

"Jethro!" she cried again when he pulled away. "It's raining!" She locked her knees to prevent herself from slipping on the slick concrete.

"You're soaking wet," Jethro informed her, smiling.

"So let's get out of the rain, stupid," she retorted, dissolving into giggles. He kissed her again and she sucked in her breath, wondering what had set him off into this mischievous mood. Jethro tangled his fingers in the strands of her hair and pulled her close, keeping her warm even in the chilling rain. He wormed his leg in between hers and let his hands drift down her shoulders to her waist.

"Hey," Jenny whispered when he took a breath, catching his eye. She lifted an eyebrow and smirked a little. "You think we should continue this elsewhere?"

"Mmm, like where?" he mumbled against her mouth, dipping his fingers under the waistline of her skirt. Jenny leaned into him and laughed.

"Nice, warm, bed?" she suggested.

Jethro laughed and kissed the corner of her mouth.

"You think?"

"Why do I get the idea you're not going to wait that long?" she whispered, her breath hitching in her throat.

He drew one of her legs up around his waist and smirked.

* * *

"I really can't believe we did that," Jenny mumbled into his neck, snuggling closer to him under the thick fleece blanket he'd dug out of nowhere and wrapped around her as they sat on the patio out back of the safe house in utter darkness, listening to rain fall steadily on the awning and petite back lawn.

Jethro smirked and ran his hand through her hair for the umpteenth time, pulling through tangles easily. They were both still soaked, but at least under the blanket and out of the direct rainfall they were drying off slowly.

Jethro kissed the top of her head and flashed back to the alley, snorting with laughter into her hair.

"It's not funny!" Jenny admonished, sounding like she was biting back her own amusement. "We could have been arrested," she tried solemnly.

"Would've been hard to explain to the Director," he mumbled, and she burst into laughter.

Jethro lifted a tumbler filled with bourbon from the concrete next to him and took a swig, the smile never leaving his face. Jenny shifted her head so she was speaking directly into his neck anymore and looked out over the wet grass, pulling her knees up and resting them against his legs. She glanced at him and smirked, picking up her own drink and toasting him with the ounce or so left.

"Never have I ever had sex in a Paris alley," she quipped, taking the shot in stride. Jethro cocked his eyebrow and took another sip. She tilted her head back against his shoulder and held out her glass, waiting for him to re-fill it. When he was finished pouring another, she sobered up nobly.

"We shouldn't do it again," she informed him solemnly.

"No promises," he retorted, and she laughed again.

Jenny took a sip of her drink slowly this time and leaned into Jethro while he played with the ends of her hair. She was slightly lightheaded, which was probably explainable by the half-empty bottle of bourbon at their feet, and the air had warmed up with the rain, turning humid and a little sticky. They hadn't been in the house but for Jethro to grab a blanket; Ducky was asleep when they returned and neither one of them wanted to wake him.

His steady breathing was soothing, and was starting to lull her into a state of sleepiness when Jethro drew his knee up and rested his hand on it, looking at the bourbon in his glass. He leaned back against the house and looked down at her, smirking.

"You up for a drinking game?" he asked wickedly.

Jenny lifted her eyebrows and snorted.

"I think," she answered slowly, "that is a spectacularly bad idea."

"Don't think you can handle it?" he provoked.

"Oh it's not that," Jenny answered airily, taking a drink of her bourbon, "I just might get drunk and start telling you everything I never wanted you to know," she said, tilting her head up at him mischievously, "like how your nose twitches like a bunny's when you sleep."

Jethro glared at her. Jenny smirked and lifted her glass to her lips again.

"Oops," she murmured, giggling at the look on his face, "guess I'm already a little drunk."

"Yeah," he grunted. "I do not twitch like a bunny," he added in an undertone, giving her another distasteful look.

"Don't be embarrassed Jethro," she admonished seriously, "I think it's very cute."

"I'm not cute," he responded seriously.

Jenny smirked and sat up a little more, curling her feet closer to her and putting her face close to hers on his shoulder. She smiled and wrinkled her nose against his cheek, closing her eyes and laying her head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer, staring off across the lawn.

"Mmm, Jethro," she mumbled quietly, setting her glass down quietly. She pushed his grey jacket off of his shoulders a little and breathed in deeply, letting her breath out against his neck. "You always smell so good," she sighed.

He laughed and Jenny pressed her knuckles into his shoulder to shut him up. She shook her hair out of her face and kissed his neck lightly, crowding closer into his side. His head fell back against the brick and she placed kisses to his throat. He stroked his hand up and down her back and she ran one hand up the inside of his leg.

He took a drink.

Jenny touched his mouth and kissed him, barely giving him time to move the tumbler out of the way. She ran her tongue along his lips and coaxed his mouth open, pinching him in the shoulder when he fought her until he let her win. She pulled away gasping and pressed her forehead into his, biting her lip.

"Jen?" he asked quietly, when she didn't say anything.

"That's definitely enough to get me drunk," she whispered hoarsely.

Jethro smirked and laughed again; Jenny smiled and twisted around, throwing herself across his lap. He wrapped the arm holding his drink around her and rested the other one across her lap, drawing his fingers lightly up and down her ribcage. She kissed his jaw softly and breathed him in again. It suddenly occurred to her that she'd never heard him laugh so much in one night.

Jenny removed the glass of bourbon from his hand and set it down on the concrete next to him, sliding it away. He threaded his fingers into her hair and slipped his hand under the hem of her blouse.

"You know," she said, lifting an eyebrow lazily, "I keep expecting Ducky to flip the porch light on and put us in time-out."

He smiled. She just rolled her eyes to herself and snuggled into him again, curling her hand around his arm and stroking his wrist slowly. He watched her close her eyes and leaned back, his head against the brick again. He stared at the blackish-grey sky and enjoyed the warmth of her body against his.

"Sawdust," Jenny muttered distinctly, and he snorted, not surprised she was already half-asleep. He swallowed and looked down at her, combing his fingers through her silky red hair steadily. She whimpered quietly in her sleep and he smiled softly, tilting his head back and closing his eyes.

Grudgingly, he accepted that he'd underestimated this careless fling from the beginning, and the raw emotion behind it had blindsided him. It was disconcerting, but he couldn't stop it and he sure as hell didn't try to. She got under his skin. He was drawn to her.

* * *

_See Flashback S3Ep8 for the dinner scene!_


	15. the Flu

_A/N: Thanks to aserene!_

**

* * *

**

When Jenny was still asleep at eleven o'clock, Leroy Jethro Gibbs decided to wake her.

He stalked up the stairs purposefully and barged into her—_their_—room, making sure the door banged loudly against the wall. Flipping on the bright light, he smirked at the prospect of annoying the hell out of her and strolled over to the bed, grasping the edge of the soft sheets and jerking them off of her abruptly, exposing her scantily clad body to the cool air.

Jenny's brow creased and she curled inwards slightly, her shoulders hunching in against the cold, but that was all. No yelling, no hitting, no vicious glaring or colorful curse words. She just lay there. Jethro frowned, perturbed that his plan to disgruntle her had not worked, and picked up his pillow from behind her. He could tell by her shallow breathing she was awake.

"Time to get up, Jen," he said loudly, hitting her softly over the head with the pillow.

Jenny moaned softly.

Jethro rolled his eyes and tossed the pillow carelessly next to her, leaning over the edge of the bed and pushing on her shoulder impatiently.

"If you're moping because of some _female_ problem…" he quipped, hoping to draw a catty glare out of her. She barely responded. She just ignored him.

"Come on, Jen," he insisted, shaking her. His hand pressed into her bare shoulder harder; her skin was warm, almost _too_ warm.

"Stop it, Jethro," Jenny said hoarsely, shying away from him.

If the temperature of her skin hadn't already alerted him, her voice would have been his first clue that something was wrong. He sobered up immediately and stopped shaking her, instead brushing her hair off of her neck and face and pressing his palm against her skin gently. He flipped it over and touched his knuckles to the side of her face. Her skin was hot to the touch and covered in a thin sheen of sweat.

"Hey," he said, lowering his voice, "You okay, Jen?"

"Leave me alone," she responded thickly.

"You're burning up," he said, narrowing his eyes. She'd been fine last night, and now she seemed like she was too sick to move. He pushed her hair back off of her forehead and pressed his hand into it, knitting his eyebrows. "Jenny, what's wrong with you?" he asked.

She reached up and slapped his hand away, pulling the pillow he'd hit her with close and burying her face in it. He regretted hitting her with it now. She opened her eyes blearily and looked at him glassily.

"Go away, Jethro," she snapped shortly, "I'm _fine_."

"No, you're not," he protested sharply. "You're sick."

"Thanks, Doctor," she retorted nastily.

Jethro glared at her and ignored the tone. She shivered and he pulled the pillow away from her face a little, sliding and arm under her and sitting down on the edge of the bed.

"Sit up, Jen," he ordered. She twisted away from him half-heartedly and glared dully, her eyes clouded and murky. She gave him a defeated look five seconds later and struggled upwards, propping herself up on one arm and dropping her shoulders.

Her skin was two shades paler than normal, she looked like she hadn't slept, and her arm was shaking just slightly from the effort of holding herself up. She gave him a grimace and her eyes fought to stay open as she held his probing gaze. He leaned closer to her and ran a hand up her back under the silk nightie, feeling the skin again. She was clammy and feverish at the same time, and her muscles were knotted and tense.

"How long have you been like this?" he asked sternly, as if he was accusing her of hiding a brain tumor from him. Jenny sighed in annoyance, about the only thing she could do to show her irritation, and sank down a little.

"I woke up sick," she admitted.

"When?" he demanded.

Jenny paused and glared at him more viciously this time.

"Three hours ago," she finally answered reluctantly, apparently feeling too poorly to argue with him. He narrowed his eyes at her but didn't say anything. It was just like her to refuse to tell anyone she wasn't okay or she needed care.

He thought back to the night before. She hadn't had anything to eat since supper, and from the way she looked now she was probably dehydrated, especially if this was the flu or something. He drew his hand out from her nightie and touched her hair, studying her for another moment.

"Are you still here?" she asked bitterly after a short silence, directing a volatile look at him. She winced for some reason and he looked at her calmly. "Just let me sleep it off. Go. Away." She almost pleaded, her voice hoarse.

"You need fluids," he said, ignoring her request. He placed a pillow on top of hers and she glanced at it and then back at him. She shivered again and pressed her lips together tightly. He slipped his hand down to her shoulder and pushed her back gingerly.

"Lay back down, Jen," he ordered quietly. She looked almost relieved and snuggled back down into the mattress, pulling her arms in towards her instinctively and inching towards him. She looked at him moodily and then suddenly seemed to lose her resolve and parted her lips.

"I'm freezing," she said, even though he knew her fever had to be over one hundred. He shifted and grabbed the covers he'd yanked off of her, pulling them back up and throwing them over her. Jenny curled into them and gave him a grateful look.

"I'm getting you something for that fever," he said gruffly, as she closed her eyes. She mumbled something softly and furrowed her brow, turning her face into the pillow again. Jethro got up and strode towards the door, still worried about her.

"Turn the light off," she said as he reached the doorway, her voice muffled in the covers. He flicked the switch off and left the door open as he stalked down the stairs purposefully and stormed in the kitchen, annoyed at himself for not checking on her earlier. Where was his gut when Jenny was upstairs being burned alive by some ruthless fever?

He banged open a cabinet door rather unnecessarily and pulled out a bottle of fever medications, throwing it on the counter haphazardly and then rooting around in search for a bowl. Even if she didn't want to eat, she needed to, or she'd only get worse, and that was not happening on his watch.

"Is Jennifer still sleeping the day away?" Ducky asked, peeking in from the porch. He'd been out there reading some gruesome book on medieval autopsies all morning, and now he smiled in at Jethro, entering the kitchen with a calm demeanor and laying his book on the table.

"Something's wrong with her, Duck," Jethro answered tersely, finding an appropriate bowl and then going in search for the chicken soup he knew Ducky had bought at some point.

"Jethro, that is not very nice," Ducky said sternly, and Jethro threw a look at him over his shoulder, narrowing his eyes.

"She's sick," he amended, clarifying his meaning. Ducky was a picture of concern immediately, his smile turning into a worried frown and his forehead creasing. He stepped up to the counter and examined Jethro's fever medication, and watched as Jethro pulled down a can of chicken broth from the top shelf of their cabinets.

"Sick?" he repeated, questioning.

"Chills, high fever, lethargic, sore throat I think. Probably the flu," Jethro answered gruffly, jerking open the microwave.

"She seemed all right last night," Ducky said with concern.

"I know, Duck," Jethro answered, calming down a little, "I don't know what happened."

Ducky remained silent for a moment and then pointed an accusatory finger at Jethro.

"I would think it's that night you two spent outside in the _pouring cold_ rain. What were you thinking, keeping her out in that weather?"

Jethro gave him a half shocked, half outraged look.

"You're blaming me? Ducky, that was almost two weeks ago! And _she_ dragged me out there!"

Ducky just gave him a look like it was all his fault. Jethro responded with a menacing glare and whirled around to the microwave, impatiently awaiting the soup's buzz. Ducky shifted behind him and came up to the sink, opening his personal tea cabinet.

"I'm sure a cup of the Earl would help her immensely," he said a little more cheerfully.

Jethro rolled his eyes.

"She doesn't need your damn tea, Ducky, she needs soup."

Ducky glared at his friend, a very uncommon thing for him. Jethro glared right back, not at all intimidated by Ducky's scowl. He gave the ME a pointed look and went to the fridge, rummaging around for the ginger ale Jenny had bought at some point to mix herself some ridiculous fluffy alcoholic _thing_. At least it was good for something now. He poured it into a glass and swept the medicine off the counter, glancing at the soup before he left.

"You be nice to her, Jethro!" Ducky warned, receiving a dirty look.

Jethro went back up the stairs quickly, intent on checking on her and getting some drugs into her system before he fed her. The pills weren't really great on an empty stomach, but they'd help until once she ate. He scoffed at Ducky's comment. When was he not nice to Jenny? She was the mean one.

Jethro walked back into the room and stopped when he realized Jenny wasn't in bed anymore. The covers were thrown about messily, not an uncommon occurrence in his bed but at this point in time a worrisome one.

His eyes focused in on the open bathroom door and he crossed the room swiftly to it. He found her in there leaning against the sink with the back of her one hand pressed lightly to her lips and her eyes closed lightly. She opened her eyes when she heard him enter. Cautiously, Jethro set down the bottle of medicine and reached out to pull her hair behind her ear. She took a deep breath and pulled her hand away from her mouth.

"I feel terrible," she said weakly, sounding shaken.

"Here," Jethro said, holding out the glass, "ginger ale," he added, when she gave him a wary look. Jenny took it from him and tried a small sip, swallowing hesitantly. A sour look crossed her face as she swallowed, and she took another drink. She set the glass down carefully and turned back to the sink.

"Better?" Jethro asked slowly, tilting his head to look at her more closely. She shook her head slowly.

"I'm going to be sick again," she said hoarsely, and he swept her hair back as a simple reflex. Jenny leaned forward and threw up in the sink, her face tinted an unpleasant shade of green. Jethro placed a hand on her back and looked over her shoulder in the mirror, a sudden thought occurring to him.

"Jen, remember your first autops—"

"Oh, Jethro, _why_ would you bring that up?" she broke in desperately, giving him a half-hearted look. Now that he thought about it, with her looking so nauseous it probably wasn't his best idea. She glared at him in the mirror and he gave her an apologetic look, rubbing her back.

"Drink," he ordered, pointing to the glass. Jenny picked it up tiredly and listened to him without a word. She reached forward and turned on the faucet, tilting her face away from the sink and looking at him.

"I can't get the taste out of my mouth," she said. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath again, her shoulders trembling.

"You gonna be sick again?" he asked. Jenny shook her head slowly.

"I can't. I don't know," she paused, sighing. She looked dead on her feet. "I feel shaky."

"_Bed_. Go lay down," he ordered, handing her the glass and pointing out the door. Jenny slowly padded out, following his orders wordlessly. Jethro stared at the sink for a moment and then turned the faucet off. He followed her with the medicine, leaving the bathroom light on. Jenny sat on the edge of the bed and hung her head, gripping the sides until her knuckles were white. The Ginger ale was sitting on the bedside table.

"Can you take these?" Jethro asked, popping the top off and tipping two into his palm. She looked at him dully and nodded, holding out her hand. She obviously trusted him to medicate her right because she tilted back her head and swallowed them without a single question. She set the glass down and bent forward, crossing her arms across her stomach.

"Jen?" he asked quietly, looking at her worriedly.

"Cramps," she said quietly.

"Oh," he responded awkwardly, setting the bottle of fever meds down. He didn't really know what to do about those, except feel incredibly bad that she'd happened to get sick at the same time she was having her other…female issues.

Jethro rubbed his forehead, frustrated, and crouched down next to her, resting a hand on her knee.

"I want you to eat something, Jenny," he said.

"I can't."

"You need to eat. You haven't eaten in twelve hours,"

"Jethro, I _can't_," she said desperately. "I hate throwing up. I don't want anything to eat."

Jethro frowned and ran his hand over her knee soothingly, wishing he had something better to suggest. She wasn't sick in a way he could fix, though, whatever bug or flu she had had to run its course and he couldn't do anything about it.

"You want to get in the shower? Rinse off in cool water?"

She just shook her head tiredly.

"I just want to lie here," she said softly. She looked up at him and swallowed, grimacing again as she did. "I can't get warm. I hurt all over. I can't get cool when I cover up. I just want to _sleep_," she broke off and pressed her lips together silently for a moment. "My head hurts."

Jethro stood up and glared at nothing in particular. She looked like death warmed up and he couldn't even strangle the thing that was making her so sick.

"Hold on," he said gruffly, leaving the room and marching down the hall to her room. He entered her neat bathroom and yanked open a drawer, rummaging through all the make-up and hair products, leaving everything in complete disarray, looking for the painkillers he knew she kept for her oh-so-favorite-time of the month. He grabbed them when he saw them, trying not to touch any of the other things associated with that affliction, he dug heating pad she had out from her closet and picked up a clean washcloth on his way out.

Jenny was slumped against the headboard of the bead when he stormed back in meaningfully and set his spoils on the table. He moved the bedside table slightly to the right, pulled the lamp out of its plug, and hooked up the cord for the heating pad. Pointedly, he set the painkillers down on the table, letting go of them as quickly as possible, and disappeared into the bathroom with the washcloth to soak it in ice-cold water.

Jenny was looking at him in what might be interest when he came back out and transferred the washcloth to one hand while he picked up the ginger ale glass with the other.

"Take those," he said, gesturing to the painkillers, "for your head and the…cramps," he paused as she took the glass slowly and reached for the pills. He made his way around the bed to a pile of clean clothes on his floor and picked out the freshly washed and now slightly worn cotton I-Love-Paris t-shirt and brought it over to her. "Take that silk off. Cotton's more comfortable," he said gruffly.

Jenny swallowed the other pills quickly and took the shirt with a weak smile. He made it a point not to look below her neck as she stripped off the wrinkled nightie and threw the shirt on over herself, drowning in the soft material. Jethro folded the cloth in two and pressed it against Jenny's forehead, holding it there for a minute to cool her off.

Jenny slipped her hand over his after a few seconds and he disentangled his fingers, throwing the heating pad onto the pillows. He got into the bed and sat back against the headboard, taking her and pulling her towards him easily. She was hardly in any condition to try and resist. He pulled her back against his chest and she stiffened reluctantly for some reason.

He ignored it and picked up the heating pad, settling it over her stomach and making sure it stayed in place.

"Relax, Jen," he soothed, running his fingers through her hair. She shifted and leaned into him a little more, her muscles still tightly coiled. Jethro reached up to touch her cheek, feeling the water from the cold cloth on her skin and satisfied that it was helping some.

He knew she was uncomfortable. Hot, cold, sweaty, shivering, achy, nauseous, and sleepy didn't make the world's best combination. He could at least attempt to alleviate some of the discomfort to the best of his abilities. The darkness in the room would help, and though he hadn't meant to leave the door open, he figured it would be better to keep air circulating anyway.

Jethro placed his hands on her shoulders and started rubbing his thumbs in small circles, working out the kinks in her neck and trying to soothe the soreness in her joints. Her head fell back against his shoulder and she shifted, trying to find a position that didn't bother her. Her eyes closed.

"You should leave," she said shortly, "You don't want to catch this."

"I don't get sick," he answered darkly.

Jenny snorted with a bit of her usual spark.

"Of _course_ you don't," she mocked, her voice coarse. She started coughing.

"Shut-up, Jen," he warned, the sound of her cough grating on his ears. She drew in her breath slowly and clamped her mouth shut. She squirmed again, shifting her head, trying to shake her heavy hair off of her neck.

Jethro wordlessly leaned over to the bedside table, jerked open the drawer, and found an elastic thingy of hers in there leftover from some night he'd pulled one out. He threw her red curls up in it inexpertly and shrugged.

"Take your shirt off," Jenny murmured lethargically, leaning forward away from his massage a little. Jethro pulled it over his head at her command and she slumped back into him, finally just giving up all pretenses and letting him support her dead weight against him. Not that she was particularly heavy.

Jethro tilted his head back against the headboard and rubbed her shoulders methodically, moving down her arms occasionally or to the front of her shoulders a little. He muscles started to unwind a little beneath his hands and she flipped the cold cloth over on her forehead.

"You don't have to sit here and do this," he heard her mumble quietly, having finally found a comfortable position.

Jethro didn't answer. He lifted his head up and bent it forward to kiss the top of hers, trying to ease her into a relaxed enough state to fall back to sleep. He wanted her stomach strong enough to eat and keep something down, even if it was Ducky's godforsaken tea. Finally, he mildly granted her a response:

"You tell me if you need anything," he said sternly into her hair, "I mean it, Jenny."

Her head moved slightly on his chest, indicating she was nodding—or possible shaking—her head in response, which one it was, he couldn't tell. Her breathing evened out a little, broken a few times by another round of coughing, and she kept shifting, pulling the heating pad away and then placing it back.

"Stay hydrated," he said gently.

Jenny turned her head towards the bedside table and took a larger drink of the ginger ale, closing her eyes as she sat it down and leaning back into him. At least she was listening for once. He'd never seen Jenny with so much as a stuffy nose, and he already hated seeing her like this.

"Thanks," she murmured hoarsely, sincerity in every letter of the word.

He remained silent, giving the open door to the hallway a grim look. He shifted his head and looked down at her crown of hair guiltily suddenly, and then looked back up, stroking two fingers lightly along her collarbone.

"Jen," he started hesitantly. Her head shifted up a little to show she was listening. "I'm sorry I hit you with that pillow."

Jenny smiled a little and burrowed closer to him, her spirits picked up just a little by the solemnity of the statement. It was the first time she actually heard an apology out of him, even if he'd owed her one on countless other occasions. This one, though, was so typical of Jethro.

"You should be," she mumbled primly.

* * *

As far as he could tell, Jenny wasn't feeling any better. She was asleep again, maybe not exactly peacefully, but at least she'd drifted off for longer than ten minutes this time. She struggled away from him when she got too hot and rolled over to curl against his side when her chills took over, shivering against his side and slapping him away when he tried to pull her closer. She was weak and achy, highly irritable and strangely clingy at the same time.

She turned restlessly again in her sleep, lying on her back with her brow furrowed slightly. Jethro picked up the wet cloth from her pillow and placed it lightly back on her forehead, watching the creases in her skin smooth out at its touch.

She didn't want to eat and refused to let Ducky look at her.

Jenny breathed in deeply and relaxed a little in her sleep, shifting towards him a little. Her head slipped on the pillow and she stopped tossing so much. She didn't talk in her sleep when she was sick, but moaned softly like a hurt puppy. He much preferred the talking.

Stiffly, Jethro uncrossed his legs and re-arranged their position. He refused to leave her alone when a fever could possibly fry her brain or she could cough up a lung in any amount of time he was absent. Jenny was annoyed at him and kept trying to kick him out.

She rolled over a little into his lap, resting her head on his thigh heavily. He reached down and touched the side of her face experimentally, trying to gauge the temperature of her skin. It didn't seem as burning hot as it had been through the afternoon.

"Jethro," she mumbled, and it took him a few moments to realize she was awake and not just talking to herself in her slumber.

"Yeah, Jen?" he asked quietly, pulling his hand back through her damp hair.

Jenny shifted her head so she could see him a little better and he titled his to find her eyes. She looked at him a little more clearly than earlier and scooted back a little, resting on a pillow and breathing deeply.

"I thought you were asleep," she said hoarsely, wincing as she spoke. Her throat was sore from the flu and from coughing; not to mention she'd been sick to her stomach half the afternoon and that wasn't doing wonders for her vocal cords.

He shook his head.

"Feel any better?" he asked, studying her. She was still pale as snow.

Jenny gave a small shrug and hugged the edge of the pillow.

"My head still hurts," she said, and then paused. "I think I'm a little hungry," she continued reluctantly. He could tell she wasn't too keen on the idea of putting anything in her stomach by the wary look on her face. He ignored it.

"Good," he growled. It had been a good bit more than five hours since he first made the now-forgotten soup downstairs and tried to convince her she needed to eat. If she wasn't dying of dehydration and malnourishment now, she would be any second, and his number one priority was to get food in her.

"I'm going to make you some soup," he said shortly, swinging his legs off the bed even though they protested strenuously against the movement after staying still for so long. He stood up and stretched a little, extremely glad to be moving.

"Jethro, you don't have to—" she started to mumble tiredly, but he just fixed her with a glare.

"Stop arguing," he ordered.

"I'm not arguing," she muttered, clearly arguing with him.

He decided to ignore that little comment for the time being. It wouldn't be nice to argue with her. He smirked instead and walked across the room to the door, pulling it open silently and leaving it open so he could hear if she started yelling for him or something. It was highly unlikely that she would, but still.

Ducky was in the kitchen poking through bags of groceries when he entered, and Jethro was pleased to see his old friend had picked up stuff for chicken broth at the grocery. Without a word, Jethro started pulling stuff out to make some for Jenny. It would be better than feeding her some questionable canned crap he couldn't personally vouch for.

"Is Jenny feeling any better?" Ducky asked worriedly, shuffling around to put up the other stuff he'd purchased. Jethro continued adjusting the stove.

"She stopped vomiting," he said, "and she asked for food. Other than that, I don't think so," he paused and gave the pot he was using a scowl, "she won't admit she feels bad though."

Ducky chuckled.

"Sounds like someone else I know,"

Jethro glared at him briefly over his shoulder and went back to the soup with a grumble. Ducky pottered silently around the kitchen for a few moments without saying a word and then held up a carton of orange juice ominously as he opened the fridge.

"If she holds down that soup and can drink the ginger ale, give her some of this for vitamin C. Keep her hydrated, and some cough syrup wouldn't hurt her—"

"I know, Duck," Jethro interrupted coolly, "I saw the flu a lot in the Corp."

Instead, though, he flashed back to three nightmarish weeks when Kelly and Shannon had both been attacked by the same particularly virulent strain of flu and spent their days curled up together in bed tossing and turning miserably. He quickly pushed those memories away, because he'd gladly spend twice that time pushed to the limit caring for them if it meant he could see them one more time.

Mechanically, Jethro adjusted the temperature on the oven again, his ears rushing. Kelly had been five then. Shannon had made herself sicker worrying about her age and the dangers the flu presented. He'd never caught it from them.

"Here," Ducky said softly, handed Jethro a bottle of unopened cough syrup. He must have purchased it while he was out. Jethro took it with a civil nod, showing he hadn't meant to snap at Ducky. Ducky returned the nod and finished up with the last of his goods, making sure they were well stocked on everything.

"Jethro," Ducky said, and the hesitancy in his tone immediately alerted Jethro that he needed to be on his guard. He didn't turn around or look at Ducky, merely grunted in response. Something told him he had a lecture coming.

"How long has this," Ducky paused delicately, "affair between you and Jenny been going on?"

And a lecture it was. Jethro gritted his teeth and kept his attention focused on the soup; he couldn't exactly say he hadn't been expecting this from Ducky. He didn't want to discuss it for about a thousand and one different reasons, and certainly not with Ducky.

"I'm not meaning to pry—"

"Then don't, Duck," Jethro interrupted tersely.

He could feel Ducky giving him a placating look, and stoically ignored it, hoping his continued lack of participation in the conversation would warn Ducky to drop it and never pick it up again. It didn't work, and he wasn't surprised.

"I'm not judging you, Jethro, that's not my place," Ducky said calmly.

"You're right. It's not," Jethro pointed out sharply.

"Would you let me speak?" Ducky asked impatiently.

Jethro smacked his palm against the counter in response, setting his jaw grimly. Ducky went on.

"I'm concerned. There's more at stake here than a mission," Ducky said, stressing the word, "and I'm not sure you're thinking clearly. Jennifer either," he added, playing fair, "Things could get messy."

"Ducky," Jethro interrupted, raising his voice a little. He finally turned around and fixed a cold look on the medical examiner, "We're adults. It's none of your business," he warned shortly.

"Suppose I make it mine," Ducky retorted mildly.

"Don't stick your nose where it doesn't belong," Jethro growled in response.

"Jethro, I'm only asking you to take this seriously! Flings like this get sticky, people get hurt, and I don't want to see that happen here, but I can't see this ending well and it's unsettling!"

"You don't know what you're talking about, Duck!" Jethro snapped coarsely, bristling at the insinuation behind his friend's words. Ducky knew not to dig past the surface in conversations like this, not after the criticisms he'd given over Jethro's first marriage that had almost ended their friendship.

He really didn't know a damn thing about what he was saying. This wasn't some casual hook-up, and Jethro didn't feel the need to explain, expand upon, or philosophize that to him. He and Jenny were being discreet even with each other.

Jethro snapped around to the stove and turned off the burner, transferring the chicken broth into a bowl for Jenny. He placed the bowl on a plate, stormed across the kitchen to pour another glass of ginger ale, and pointedly refused to give Ducky a second glance. His friend stood in the middle of the kitchen looking frustrated and upset

"What happens if you get in too deep, Jethro?" Ducky asked probingly, "or she does? How will the damage be repaired?"

Jethro slammed a spoon down onto the plate he had and picked it up without a word in response to Ducky's, in his opinion, self-righteous string of questions. He wasn't prepared to consider it. It hit too close to home, brought too many unanswered questions and wary thoughts to mind. He knew one thing for sure, even if he refused to acknowledge it properly. He turned and glared at Ducky viciously as he held the soup and glass up, giving him a long, cold look before he ended the discussion permanently:

"This isn't a '_fling',_"

He threw the word out contemptuously and left, brushing past Ducky deliberately and storming down the hall. It was a miracle he didn't spill hot soup everywhere. Nettled and slightly pissed as he was, he made it a point to breathe and push his discontent down a little before he entered his room again; he didn't want Jenny picking up on it and harassing him.

She was sitting up in bed when he came back in, and looked at him tiredly. Her eyes followed him across the room and she watched him set the stuff down on the bedside table and then sit on the edge of the bed to hand it to her.

"Don't spill," he instructed as she took the bowl.

"I'm not a child!" she protested moodily, glaring at him. She balanced the bowl in her lap carefully and stirred the soup reluctantly, holding it up after a moment and hesitantly starting to eat.

She immediately hissed and dropped the spoon back in the bowl.

"It's hot, Jen," he said, looking at her like she was crazy.

"Why didn't you warn me?" she retorted with a glare.

"You thought I would bring you cold soup?" he answered, sounding offended. She gave him another look and blew on the soup sullenly. Her moods were shifting around so fast he couldn't keep up. One minute she was annoyed at his presence and another she was clinging to him.

Jenny started eating the soup more carefully this time, sipping it slowly off the spoon. Jethro watched her for a moment and then left without a word to retrieve the cough syrup he'd left in his hurry to end the conversation with Ducky.

Ducky was out on the back patio when he swiped the syrup from the counter; he'd left the sliding door open and was looking through the newspaper at a small table. At least he seemed all right, and it satisfied Jethro enough to forget about it. Unless Ducky decided to be irritating and bring it up again.

The minute he entered the room, Jenny gave him a suspicious look as he shut the door.

"What's that?" she asked hoarsely, as he approached the bed with the bottle. He held it up and she grimaced.

"I'm fine. I'm don't need that," she said quickly.

"Yes, you do," he responded sternly, unscrewing the top and taking off the little cuppy thing that measured how much to give someone. He glanced at the chart on the back and squinted a little at the small instructions, checking age and weight numbers.

"How much do you weigh?" he asked.

Jenny glared at him.

"Never mind," he muttered, rolling his eyes. He guessed somewhere between one-ten and one-fifty, though it was probably on the lighter side if he had to make an exact estimate. He tipped the thick red liquid into the tiny cup and, catching a whiff of the strong smell, was incredibly glad she was taking it.

He held it out to her.

"I'm not taking that," Jenny informed him.

He just held it out and rolled his eyes at her.

"No," she insisted, a whine creeping into her voice.

"Stop being such a baby," he provoked.

"Jethro, please," she tried, softening her features.

"Not gonna work. Take it."

Jenny dropped the sweet, pleading look and assumed her glare again. She snatched the medicine from him best she could without spilling it and gave it a mournful look before downing it in one go. She closed her eyes and shook her head, making a face.

"I hate you," she informed him, throwing the empty cup at him. Jethro let it glance off his shoulder and onto the floor with a small smirk.

"You do not," he corrected.

"Yes I do!" she said fiercely, turning to her soup with narrowed eyes and a set jaw. He was pleased that she was at least showing more personality than she had been all day. It was probably the painkillers and fever meds finally working together perfectly, though.

Jethro shrugged and turned slowly, deliberately making his way out of the room.

"Jethro," he heard from behind him, quieter this time. "Come back."

He returned to the side of the bed.

"I need my ginger ale," she informed him nicely, all hostility gone from her tone. He handed it over with a raised eyebrow.

"Don't give me that look," she mumbled into the glass.

She handed him back the ginger ale and finished her soup slowly. Jethro busied himself kicking clothing and stuff that was in the floor into piles, doing a fantastic job of watching her sharply out of the corner of his eye. She was still pale and listless, definitely not moving or talking as much, but she did seem better. At least she was eating.

Well, now, she was looking at the bowl uncertainly.

"Jen? You okay?" he asked for the thousandth time, pausing in his pursuit of a missing sock and approaching her. She pushed the ounce or so of soup left in her bowl around and shrugged her shoulders a little, swallowing.

"I'm not hungry anymore," she said finally.

Jethro took the bowl. It was mostly gone anyway. Jenny sank back against the headboard and curled towards herself, half sitting up and half sprawled on the pillows. Jethro just sat the bowl down on the table and proceeded to ignore it, studying her closely. She shifted and sat up, resting her head on her knees.

"Don't be offended," she said weakly after a moment, stretching out her legs and getting out of bed, "but I'm going to be sick," she said, and disappeared into the bathroom. After a moment, Jethro followed her to find her brushing her teeth over the sink, her cheeks paler than usual and her arm shaking slightly.

She spit in the sink, an unpleasant look still on her face as she rinsed her mouth and the toothbrush and threw it back in its container. He decided not to point out that he would prefer it if she didn't use his toothbrush _ever_ again. He'd just buy a new one.

Sympathetically, Jethro wrapped his arms around her and hugged her. She opened her eyes and smiled weakly at him in the mirror, putting her hand over one of his arms lightly.

"Thanks for the soup," she said hoarsely. Jethro snorted. He loosened his grip on her a little and led her back to bed, pointing at it wordlessly. She fell onto it and buried her face in the pillows, laying on her stomach and breathing in deeply.

After a moment, she rolled over on her back and looked up at him, swallowing hard.

"Can I have some alcohol?"

"Absolutely not."

She closed her eyes in defeat and scowled at no one in particular. Even she knew anything with alcohol would be terrible for her right now. She just wished she had something to knock her out completely. Morphine might do the trick, but she doubted Ducky would give her any.

She reached up and pushed her hair back in frustration, resting her hand on her forehead. The sheets were thrashed, tangled mess from where she'd spent the day kicking them off and pulling them on and generally twisting around in discomfort.

"My back hurts," she said softly, and it was almost a whimper. She pulled her hand down from her face and looked at him, her eyes absent of their usual luster. "Jethro…?"

He lay down on the bed next to her and she rolled over, crossing her arms under her head and letting him draw up the t-shirt she wore so he could run his hands over the knotted muscles of her back. Propping himself up on one arm, he massaged her spine with his fingers in soothing circles, letting her eventually pull his arm down to use as a pillow when she inched closer.

Her skin was still uncomfortably warm. He was almost tempted to force her to let Ducky examine her, but he valued his life at the same time.

"I hate being sick," she said angrily, her voice trembling. He ignored the shake in her words because he wasn't use to it. Next to her, he closed his eyes and continued to easy rhythm of rubbing her back.

"I'm really annoyed that you're seeing me like this," she snapped in a mumble, and he smiled to himself. So she finally admitted she had a little of the same vanity as every other woman when it came to no make-up and blood-shot eyes. It didn't matter to him; he didn't give a damn about the eyeliner or whatever she wore anyway.

"Go to sleep, Jen," he instructed, pretending to be stern about it.

She lay silently for a moment.

"Are you going to stay?" she asked finally, her lips brushing against his arm as she spoke.

He nodded slowly, and made sure she felt his head moving.

"Good," she said quietly, and burrowed closer to him. She slipped a bare leg in between his and buried her face into his neck to block out any light, thinking to herself that it was a very good thing he 'didn't get sick'.

* * *

Jethro moseyed around the kitchen half awake in the dark, glaring alternately at the appliances and the inky black night outside. His sleep schedule was disrupted and he was up in the middle of the night in a silent house, part grateful that Jenny had been peacefully asleep for almost five hours and part annoyed that she was still sick. It was well into the second day/night of her little bout with the flu, and he'd been up with her last night when she got really bad.

He complied with her request not to bring in Ducky until she spiked another high fever and started sweating and shaking all at once. Not to mention she'd gotten a little delirious and started mumbling incoherently and refusing to let him touch her. He doubted she remembered Ducky checking up on her, but all he'd been able to do was confirm she had the flu and all he could do was treat the symptoms, not the bug.

Jethro had just been more irritated at that diagnosis, considering he still hadn't decided to forgive Ducky for his interference.

He was just glad to be stretching his muscles now. Jenny had finally gotten comfortable with her head and shoulders in his lap and had stubbornly stayed asleep that way for a long amount of time. When she'd finally rolled over and curled up at the other side of the bed, he'd attempted to stretch out and sleep but this time he couldn't get comfortable and he didn't want to wake her shifting around. So he left.

Mechanically, he brewed himself a cup of blacker than black coffee and stared blankly at the coffee machine, thinking up ways to amuse himself while he was on bad terms with Ducky and Jenny was incapable of providing entertainment.

He could clean his gun. He could do laundry. He briefly even considered starting a boat in the backyard, but they were supposed to be remaining inconspicuous and that just _might_ draw attention.

He wished Jenny would get better. He didn't like seeing her sick. It reminded him things could hurt her, and he didn't want anything to hurt her. He'd come to accept the fact lately that he really cared for her and there was no way out of it, even if he wanted out. It was different with her; she hadn't once asked him about 'the future' or asked to 'talk about us', and while it was a relief not to have to deflect personal questions every five seconds, it was a little unnerving when he found himself wondering what her thoughts were.

Jethro wasn't a man who bothered with particulars like that. At least…he hadn't in a long time. He hadn't cared, really, how another woman felt about him since…

With a sigh, he rubbed his forehead and ignored the onslaught of memories again.

He picked up the steaming cup of coffee and deliberately scalded his tongue with it just to think of something else. Ducky would probably be concerned with behavior like that, but it always worked for him. He looked out the small window above the sink into the night, barely making out a few twinkling stars. The lights from the city blurred them out.

Maybe you could see them from the top of the Eiffel tower. Jenny had voiced that thought once while they were walking by the queue to visit the monument. He could take her up there, just to see.

He must have been all but catatonic not to hear her enter the kitchen, but as he turned around to rummage through the fridge for some food she took him by surprise, standing with her arms folded tightly just inside the entrance. He froze, his eyes widening a little, and tried not to show she'd scared the daylights out of him.

"You jumped," she gloated hoarsely with a ghost of a smirk, and he scowled. She yawned and rubbed her shoulders soothingly, her eyes full of sleep. He noticed some of the color was back in her cheeks. Jenny turned on the light.

"Why are you out of bed?" he asked, giving her a glare and opening the refrigerator.

"It's stuffy and hot in that room," she responded distastefully, sniffling a little. She made her way lazily over to the table and sat down, resting her head on her arms. "I feel a little better," she added.

Jethro grunted and studied her bent head suspiciously. He chose some cubes of cheese out of the food in the fridge and shut the door quietly, unzipping the bag. He crossed the kitchen to the table and stood next to her. She blinked at him and shifted her eyes to his coffee mug.

"You think you can eat something?" he asked gruffly.

Slowly, she shook her head in the negative.

"Not yet," she grimaced. She hadn't held anything more solid than Earl Grey down for almost twenty-four hours. He glared at her half-heartedly and didn't push it. It wasn't Jenny's fault if she just threw up everything she tried to eat.

"I'm thirsty, though," she ventured, still in her hoarse, quiet voice. She sounded it. Jenny lifted her head and unfolded an arm, reaching for his mug.

"No," he said sternly, pulling it away. He gave her a look. "You get orange juice," he informed her, striding back over to the fridge and pulling the carton out. Jenny didn't protest, but she stuck her tongue out at him when he returned and handed her the glass.

"Vitamin C will help," he pointed out.

"Ducky tell you that?" she asked grimly.

"Ducky didn't tell me anything," he answered darkly. Jenny sipped the orange juice and didn't answer. Jethro sat down in the chair next to her and threw the bag of cheddar down on the table, eating silently. Jenny lay her head back down lightly and watched him with a creased brow.

"Why are you just eating cheese?" she asked.

"Because."

She rolled her eyes indulgently and then closed them. Jethro placed a cheese cube on her elbow wordlessly and she opened one eye and peeked at him.

"No thanks," she said, closing the eye, "I'm a mozzarella kind of girl."

Jethro shrugged and plucked it off of her arm. He'd stopped drinking the coffee at this point because it wasn't exactly the drink of choice when it came to washing down cheddar. He figured orange juice would be the less disgusting choice and took a drink of Jenny's.

"You must really be under the impression you won't get sick," she grumbled, her words muffled in her arm. He was. He couldn't remember being sick since the chicken pox, and that was probably fourth grade.

"How do you feel, Jen?" he asked, resting his hand in her hair and tangling his fingers in it. Jenny shrugged. He touched the back of her neck and her skin jumped at the contact; the fever was either very low or finally gone, for now, at least. "Better?" he probed.

"I feel like I have the flu," she responded evasively and smartly. He glowered at her and she smiled a little. "I'm okay, Jethro," she added nicely.

He slipped his hands to her shoulders and rubbed her back absent-mindedly, glad she was feeling better.

"When does Decker need us?" she mumbled lethargically. "For that stakeout?"

Jethro gave her a wary look.

"Two days," he answered after a moment. "You're not going."

"Yes I am," she answered automatically and instantaneously.

Jethro glared at her sharply until she opened her eyes and looked at him. She gave him a defiant glance and closed her eyes again.

"You're not doing it without back up," she said shortly. She paused a moment to cough and cursed herself for opting to remind him of her sickness in the middle of her argument, "I'll be fine in two days."

He bit back a nasty response because she was ill, but her stubbornness was grating on his nerves. It wasn't a good idea to throw her in the midst of a possibly high stress situation while she was recovering, and there was no guarantee she'd be okay anyway. The flu could rage for a week at times.

"Jen," he growled warningly.

"You can't tell me what to do," she interrupted, an uncharacteristically immature statement from her.

"We'll talk about this later," he responded through gritted teeth, not in the mood to deal with it himself.

"You mean we'll yell about it later," she amended in a mutter.

He rolled his eyes and bit into another cube of cheese, resuming the easy silence between them. She sighed after a moment and slumped onto her arms further, her tense shoulders relaxing under his soothing hand. The repetitive motion had him calmed as well.

"You sure you don't want to eat?" he pressed.

She shook her head again.

"I have to thank Ducky for the tea," she mumbled, and he gave her a funny look. She must be thinking out loud again. "It got rid of the nausea."

Jethro scowled this time, and Jenny caught him at it. She gave him a quizzical look and bit her lip, her eyes searching his face. She'd sensed he was upset about something since before she'd fallen asleep earlier, she just couldn't figure what. His earlier comment about Ducky and now that annoyed look was starting to give her an idea. She didn't say anything, though.

He paused momentarily in his massage and cursed Ducky and his damn tea silently. Jenny shifted her head and met his eyes.

"Don't stop," she requested, "it feels good."

He resumed his hand movements and sealed the bag of cheese, listening to her relaxed breathing in the otherwise silent house. She'd closed her eyes again, and he couldn't help but wonder what she was doing up. Sleeping it off, at this point, would be a good thing. She needed the rest while she was feeling okay.

"Go back to bed, Jen," he urged softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear gently.

Jenny opened her eyes and looked at him.

"I don't want to sleep," she answered, a little too quickly. "I'm tired of sleeping."

He studied her silently, and a little suspiciously. She must have had a nightmare. She always left the bedroom when she had nightmares. She didn't look away from his gaze, almost like she was daring him to question her or make her go sleep.

"I'm sick of that room anyway," she confessed darkly.

Jethro nodded and shut his mouth, shuddering. He hadn't been too pleased with being cooped up there the past two days either, but at least he'd been feeling fine. He wouldn't be surprised if she insisted on sleeping in her room from now on.

"Jethro," she said quietly. He grunted in response. "Will you watch a movie with me?"

"Yeah," he replied without thinking about it first. Inwardly, he grimaced, unsure what she was going to force him to sit through for two hours. A few days ago he'd found her watching a German film even though she didn't know the language, insisting the subtitles were perfectly helpful and she loved it.

Jenny smiled at him and sat up, pushing her hair back again. She still looked worn out and pale, yet he could tell she was a lot better than she had been earlier. She took a final sip of the orange juice and started to leave.

"Meet you in the living room," she said quietly, so as not to wake Ducky. Jethro nodded affirmatively and got up to dump his half-full coffee mug and replace the cheddar in the refrigerator. He flicked off the kitchen light as he left and shuffled into the living room, only turning the two table lamps on this time. They cast a dull glow over the room. He grabbed the remote and clicked the television on, standing next to the coffee table and watching it blink awake slowly.

Jenny entered the room and brushed past him lightly. She crouched down by the VCR and slipped a tape she'd retrieved into it, adjusting the input to watch the screen go blue. The studio's name appeared on the screen and she turned around, looking at him.

Jethro sat down on the couch and swung his legs up, leaning against the armrest and indicating for her to lie down. She grabbed an afghan from an armchair and wrapped it around herself; she was still wearing only the I-Love-Paris t-shirt. She crawled over him and curled up on top of him, letting him wrap an arm around her waist.

The previews on the cassette were rolling quietly, and Jenny shifted slightly, getting comfortable enough to stay put for a few hours.

"Jethro," she asked quietly, her mouth close to his jaw, "why are you mad at Ducky?"

He looked down at the top of her head and creased his brow, reminded again how damn perceptive she was. He stroked her side and shrugged, not answering. Jenny tucked her head under his chin and rested her palm against his shoulder.

"Don't worry about it," he said gruffly. She flicked his shoulder to show her annoyance and didn't push it any further. "What are we watching, Jen?" he asked, watching the words announce the feature presentation was beginning.

"_Pretty Woman_."

Jethro groaned just for effect. He hadn't seen it, but in his limited knowledge women liked it a lot. This meant he was instantly suspicious of it. Jenny giggled quietly at his reaction and shushed at him.

"I love this movie," she informed him in a whisper, lowering her voice as it started. "You'll like it, promise. There's a redhead in it," she teased. He was happy to hear her old, not-sick self creeping back into her conversation.

"I have a redhead," he answered gruffly, ruffling her hair affectionately.

Jenny placed a spontaneous kiss to his jaw and touched his face, running her soft fingers against the rough unshaven stubble that resulted from him taking care of her the past two nights. She pulled the blanket around herself tightly and let her body relax into his, focusing her attention on the movie.

Jethro shifted his head and watched it as well. Within five minutes, he concluded the redhead in the movie had nothing on Jen.

* * *

_"Baby, I'm gonna treat you so nice, you're never gonna wanna let me go!" --Vivian, Pretty Woman_


	16. Matter

_A/N: thanks to aserene!_

_"Oh, you mean the time you shot that guy..." --Leroy Jethro Gibbs, S3Ep "Probie"_

**

* * *

**

Jenny Shepard shifted her head and opened her eyes slowly, wincing at the pain in her neck and trying to blink away her blurry vision. She was incredibly uncomfortable and her feet were freezing while the rest of her was warm. Something was also tickling her feet slightly.

Confused, Jenny adjusted her head and sat up a little, knocking her head a little against whatever was behind her. The noise her skull made woke her up a little more and she remembered with a grimace where she was: in their little car, parked on a city street with Jethro.

Jethro turned to look at her as she hit her head and she noticed he was the culprit of the tickling sensation; her bare feet were in his lap and he was running his hands over them absentmindedly. Smiling a little, Jenny pushed herself up a little more and, as she moved her arms, discovered the source of her warmth. Jethro had thrown his jacket over her while she was asleep.

Jenny yawned herself awake and reached for her bottled water in the cup holder, unscrewing the top and meeting Jethro's piercing gaze equally. Her skin erupted in goose bumps under his intense glare and she flushed slightly, remembering her fitful dreams and reading her restrained desire in his eyes. The clock on the dashboard told her she'd been out for about an hour, leaving him to watch alone. Not that there had been any activity in the business they were watching.

"Feel okay?" he asked suspiciously.

Jenny rolled her eyes and re-capped the bottle.

"Fine, Jethro," she sighed, answering the question for the thousandth time since they'd parked early this morning. She was pretty sure her flu wasn't coming back. She'd spent three days fighting with it and she was ready to claim victory. Aside from the lingering fatigue and headache (and a little bit of coughing she was attempting to conceal) she was fine.

She gave Jethro a sly look.

"Want some of my germs?" she asked sweetly.

He gave her a suspicious look.

"No."

"I thought you didn't get sick…"

"I don't."

"Then they won't hurt you," she sing-songed innocently, leaning over towards him and trying to take his face in her hands. He smirked a little and held up both hands to try and stop her but she just smiled and knocked them out of the way, pulling his head towards her in the middle and gave him a short, chaste kiss, giggling when she felt his laughter against her mouth. She pulled back and he tugged a strand of her hair playfully, stroking her cheek with his finger.

The kiss appeased her a little. Fine she may be, but she was suffering from a slight hint of sexual frustration. Jethro seemed to think because she'd been sick he shouldn't _bother_ her.

"Anything interesting going on?" she asked, tossing her bottle of water back into its cup holder. Jethro gave her a dirty look when it just barely avoided knocking his coffee cup onto the floor and spilling the contents. He showed her the binoculars.

"No."

Jenny tilted her head back and whined.

"Why did Decker need us again?" she complained. She would so much rather be in _bed_ right now.

"Keep an eye on the place," Jethro answered.

Jenny nodded in annoyance. Their task was to watch the small Chinese restaurant in the sketchier part of the city all day, a place where Decker knew there would be a meeting of their targets tonight, possibly connecting them all and informing NCIS as to who or what they were dealing with. Decker thought it might have something to do with the murder of the one target; he was under the impression they were meeting concerning leaks or security and he needed to know what the deal was.

He also had an inside man in the thick of them. Decker and Kasey had been given a contact that'd been in place within the seediest of people for a few years, waiting and watching. He was going to give some information to get some, and Jethro and Jenny were supposed to watch and make sure the contact left alone and got away safely.

Decker was afraid they might be suspicious of this mysterious contact, of whom Jenny only had a mild description.

"This is completely pointless," Jenny grumbled.

Watching the place all day was a precaution. They weren't technically needed until about an hour before the meet, which was near nine o'clock. Jethro seemed to be operating under a resolution not to touch her lest he lose his self control and she was getting a little annoyed by it. She'd give anything to be in bed right now.

Jethro gave her a glare. She glared right back, daring him to spout off about the importance of their job. He just shifted uncomfortably and slouched back, picking up the binoculars again. Jenny sighed and drew her feet back, sitting up and shooting the back of his head a glance before she snagged his coffee cup and started drinking it, thankful to have something other than water. She needed to keep her mind on track, needed to stop reminding herself she was aching for Jethro because she'd been sick and sleepy for the past three days. She didn't realized she'd drank it all until—

"_Jen_!"

She paused and gave him a wide-eyed look over the rim of his cup, pulling it away from her mouth slowly. He snatched it from her, flicked off the top, and looked at it, throwing it onto the dashboard to glare at her.

"Bad Jen," he growled.

Jenny gave him a look.

"In my defense, you didn't bring me any when you went to get coffee!"

"You need water," he pointed out snappishly, still glaring at her in annoyance.

Jenny grumbled at him under her breath and watched him stare moodily at the empty coffee cup, lamenting its loss. She needed the caffeine. She needed something to keep her awake and keep her sane, before she went crazy sitting in this car with him.

After a moment, she smirked and leaned over into him, kissing his jaw contritely and resting her head on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Jethro," she apologized. Jethro grunted at her and resumed watching, turning away from her. She ignored his insolence and trailed her hand down from his collar to his abdomen, slipping it under his shirt and feeling the warmth of his skin on hers.

She threw caution to the winds because she just couldn't stand it anymore.

She turned her head towards him and kissed his neck, closing her eyes to block out the dreary sights of the car interior and seats and think of soft sheets and breathe in his trademark smell of bourbon and sawdust. She traced the outline of his muscles with her fingers lightly and felt them tighten under her touch. Slowly, she slipped her hand towards his belt and worked it through the first loop.

He grabbed her hand and gave her a semi-stern look.

"Jen," he said hoarsely, warning her.

Jenny ignored him and gently pulled her hand free, expertly working the belt out slowly until she dropped it to the floor of the car. She brushed her lips against the corner of his mouth and scooted closer to him, her leg pressing against his.

"Stop it, Jenny."

"Why?"

"Not here," he growled.

"Jethro," she whispered, nipping his ear with her teeth, "I can't wait."

She pressed a kiss behind his ear and touched her tongue to his skin, hopefully leaving a nice mark for later. He tried to shift away from her, to avoid temptation, but she gripped his thigh, reprimanding him, and pulled his zipper down teasingly, toying with the button.

His breathing caught in the back of his throat and he dropped the binoculars, cursing as he did so.

"JEN!"

"It's been _three_ _days_, Jethro!" she snapped, pulling back and glaring at him. He looked back at her with dark cobalt eyes, every line of his face expressing his own desire. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out how much _he'd_ been suffering all day in such close quarters with her after abstaining while she was sick; it wasn't exactly easy for her either.

He glared at her sharply and she jerked the button through on his jeans violently, sliding her hand beneath the waistband. She brushed her hand against him lightly and watched the lust flicker in his eyes before she gripped him and he dropped his head against her shoulder.

"Say 'no' to me," she challenged smartly, kissing his ear and down his neck to his shoulder.

"Yes," he hissed instead, his teeth biting gently into her shoulder. She teased him mercilessly until his breathing was ragged against her neck and one hand was gripping her waist so tightly she would bruise before she slowed and tilted her shoulder to nudge his head up, pressing her mouth to his urgently.

He murmured her name into her mouth heatedly, pushing her backwards uncomfortably into the passenger seat. She ignored the painful position and maneuvered her hands to instead wrap them around his neck, lacing one hand into the hair at the nape. He wriggled one hand under her back and pulled her up to him, nudging her head back and kissing her neck down to the collar of her blouse.

He went for the buttons and undid them easily, pushing back the sweater and pulling down the straps of her camisole underneath, his mouth trailing lower.

"Jethro," she whimpered, as he slowly pulled the camisole lower, following it with his mouth. She found the hem of his shirt and started to drag it upwards, forcing him to pause so she could get it off of him. She didn't care how fast this was going. She wanted him now. He moved his hand to her jeans and worked the button through effortlessly, kissing back up to her lips and assaulting her mouth.

She moved her hands to his arms and wrapped her fingers around his biceps, pulling him down onto her so she could wrap her legs around his tightly. He jerked at her jeans impatiently and she hooked a toe into the back of his, trying to move them downwards without stopping.

"Jen," he said hoarsely, reaching up to push her hair back and fist his hand in it. She looked at him hazily, lifting an eyebrow to show she was listening. "Don't ever drink the last of my coffee again."

"Jethro, shut up!" she gasped, glaring at him.

He brought his mouth close to hers and pulled her head back slightly to brush his lips against her jaw and then back against her mouth. She arched into him with a moan and her eyes fluttered; she glared at him.

"Promise," he demanded, kissing her hard and slipping his tongue into her mouth. When he felt her need for air, he pulled back with a wicked smile.

"This," she gasped, her skin flushing beautifully, "is manipulation." She dug her heels into his back and gasped at the sensation of him pressed against her thigh. Her body was screaming for him; how he could hold back this long was beyond her. She moaned and tossed her head.

"God, Jethro, I need you."

He smirked. Like he was enjoying this.

"Jenny," he coaxed huskily, drawing her name out seductively.

"Just _take_ me!" she demanded forcefully, digging her nails into his skin and pulling him down hard. He pulled her up to meet him and thrust into her, demands and promises forgotten, and she cried out, clutching him tighter to her.

It briefly occurred to her they were in a parked car on a public street, before Jethro obliterated all thoughts from her mind with each thrust until she couldn't even speak his name anymore, all she could to was bite her lip and try not to scream. How could three days without this make it feel like the first time again?

"Jethro," she moaned, raking her nails down his bare back. He hissed in her ear and she was sorry she hurt him, but he'd never admit to it and she knew he didn't care. He pulled her closer with one arm and disentangled his hand from her hair, bracing it against the seat under her. She writhed under him and threw her head back, listening to his breathing become more and more ragged as he fought to draw it out.

She tightened her legs around his waist and ran her hands down his arms again, hot skin mingling with hot skin. He shuddered above her and she pulled his arms toward her when he came; he collapsed against her and rested his forehead on her shoulder, his mouth against her chest.

He needed a minute to catch his bearings before he shifted his weight, aware he was too heavy for her. He slid out of her and she winced, unwinding her legs from his and only slightly regretting the decision to lose her control in such an uncomfortable position. He grabbed her arm and pulled her onto his lap in the driver's seat, running his hand up and down her back to calm the nerves and burying his face in her hair while he caught his breath.

Jenny slumped against him, her body fitting just right against his, just like it always seemed to. Her head ached and she tried to ignore it, too busy trying to remember how to form proper thoughts.

"God," he groaned in her ear, tucking her thick hair behind her ears and nuzzling her neck softly. She closed her eyes and parted her lips, breathing in slowly and out just as slowly. Her heartbeat was off the charts.

"You can call me Jenny," she quipped softly, smirking. She felt his rumble of laughter in his chest and turned her face into his, kissing him slowly. He looked at her intensely, blue eyes clear and probing, and she leaned into to kiss him again, probing his mouth until again he couldn't breathe and his hands were falling to her jeans again.

"Satisfied?" he asked hoarsely, running his hands up the inside of her thigh through the troublesome denim material. She gasped and her eyes fluttered yet again in his favorite way, the way they danced when she couldn't control her desire for him.

"Define satisfied," she challenged.

He dragged her into the back seat.

* * *

Jenny stared straight out the front window in to the jet black night, her jaw set in frustration, pointedly not looking at Jethro as he kept his back turned as much to her as possible, staring out the window through binoculars at the small Chinese restaurant. The high-tech night vision of his binoculars was useless at this point because they'd missed their targets; they'd missed the contact entering.

"Dammit," Jethro cursed violently under his breath, shifting the binocs away from his face and rubbing his forehead in irritation. His knuckles turned white with the vice grip he was inflicting on the binoculars.

"Nothing?" Jenny asked shortly, through clenched teeth.

"There's nothing to see," he snapped at her in response, throwing the binoculars carelessly onto the dashboard. He was blaming her for this and his body language made that clear. They had one specific time when they were supposed to track all targets and the contact meeting in the restaurant and forty minutes had gone by before either of them realized that time had long passed; they'd been too busy in the back seat and for some reason that was her fault.

Jenny leaned forward mechanically and took the binoculars, peeking through them herself. All that could be seen were buildings and people, no sign of the actual targets they were supposed to be watching because those targets had long been in the restaurant.

"We might have no choice but to go in and act our cover," she muttered, explicitly angry with herself.

"Out of the question," he growled at her dismissively, "that throws a wrench into the whole thing because it puts unknown factors into the equation."

"What other option do we have?" Jenny snapped, the familiar annoyance at his immediate rebuff of her suggestions niggling.

"Not many," he answered coldly, and when he caught the look on her face, he scowled in annoyance and rolled his eyes. "Not all of your ideas are good, Jen," he snapped maliciously, and she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from losing her cool with him.

He fell silent, anger emanating from him.

"We're working blind," Jethro growled in the seat next to her. He hit his fist against the side of the car and she jumped a little at his anger. He shot her a glare. "We never should have let this happen."

"It wasn't exactly my plan either, Jethro," she said through gritted teeth, not at all fond of the accusatory tone in his words.

"You should have stayed home," he snapped.

Jenny jerked the binoculars away from her eyes.

"What?" she asked sharply, not only offended but thoroughly pissed off by the statement.

"You're not at your best anyway," he muttered, referring to her bought with the flu and revealing that he'd noticed the way she still winced at the ache in her muscles and the annoying respiratory afflictions that lingered still, "You're just a distraction."

Mimicking his action and throwing the binoculars just as violently onto the dashboard, she turned to him and gave him a hard look, her eyes flashing dangerously.

"If I remember correctly, Jethro, you rather enjoyed that distraction," she hissed venomously, and when she caught the insolent look in his eyes, continued, "If you dare deny it, Gibbs, I swear you'll never enjoy it again."

Her threat was deadly, and she hadn't called him 'Gibbs' in a long time. It shocked him to realize how much he _hated_ it. She forced him to keep her gaze, hating that he'd voiced the concern that they were neglecting their job first, hating that his accusations made her look bad and determined to force him to own up to his part.

"If you'd stayed back like I wanted and rested, we wouldn't have had this problem!"

Jenny laughed derisively.

"Like you wouldn't be sitting alone in this car thinking of me," she threw back arrogantly, completely confident that it was true anyway. "Don't turn this on me when you sure as hell didn't blow the whistle to stop it!"

His blue eyes turned to ice before hers.

"You're not taking this mission seriously, Jen!" he snapped.

"I'm not--!" she looked at him in irate surprise at his reprimand. "And you've been so responsible and ethical the entire time? Where was this _concern_ for the mission in Marseille, _Special_ _Agent_ Gibbs? Where was it ten minutes ago in the back seat of this damn car? This job is my life, I take it seriously!" her words escalated into muted yelling now, and he fought her right back as soon as she broke off.

"Do you, Jen? How many times have you put your cover in jeopardy?" he asked piercingly, his voice cold. Jenny glared at him lividly, her fury burning under her skin like hot coals, her mind a jumble of things she could say to him just to make him hurt like his words were hurting her.

"We've really let it slip lately," he growled.

"At least you've now decided to admit you're not completely innocent and pure in what is clearly in your opinion a miserable failure of an operation!" she fired back sardonically.

"Dammit, Jen—"

"Stop," she interrupted icily, "We aren't even talking about this one mess up anymore," she said, her hard, emerald eyes boring into his like she could read his soul, probably because she saw her own reflected in his eyes. Everything she'd been pushing to the back of her mind had obviously been shoved to the corners of his as well. Something like fear gripped her.

"We messed up. Not _me_. Not _you_. _Us_. We fucked up," she said stonily. "Blaming me isn't going to change that!" she paused and gave him a calculating look, "What happened in Marseille is not my fault either," she said dangerously.

"This isn't about Marseille!" he yelled, gesturing raucously at the window.

"Yes it is," she said softly.

"No, Jenny," he snarled, "this is about here, now. What we let happen because we're careless, because you think this is fun and games—"

"Yes, I think its all fun and games, my sole reason in joining NCIS was to flit around like some female action movie star!" Jenny interrupted lividly, losing her ability to keep cool again. "This is about you not wanting to face the fact that we stepped in it! We're in a sticky mess neither one of us wants out of and you're beating yourself up about the fact that you let it trip you up!"

She was almost screaming now. Jethro took her arm and gripped it above the elbow and she twisted away from him in anger, ignoring the fact that he pulled the sweater she wore off her shoulder a little, stretching the material that had never really recovered from its mishandling in the passion of a earlier.

"It never should have even had the possibility of 'tripping me up'!" Jethro shot back at her meanly.

"Well it did, Jethro! The rules are different now!" she growled forcefully. "You thought this would be easy, what we're doing? Simple? We have to learn control and balance—this doesn't happen all the time, Jethro! We've mixed work and play before! But we can't go on just ignoring what's going on between us anymore—"

"The rules don't change," he interrupted harshly, turning her towards him and making her stay still as he glared into her eyes. "From now on while we're working, stakeout, observing, stalking, _this_," he gestured ruthlessly between them, "doesn't matter."

Just like that, he pulled away from her.

His words cut deep, much deeper than they should have. Logically, she understood what he was saying: they had to focus when it was time to focus; no more fooling around on stakeouts or the likes. Another part of her, though, was stung sharply by his indifferent words, like she was being told she didn't matter to him, and it blindsided her how much that almost shook her to the core.

Unbidden, tears sprung to her eyes, and she refused to let him see her cry; she'd never let him see her cry, though it had been a close call on the firing range so many months ago. With all the will power she possessed, she kept her face a mask of fury and pulled away from him stiffly, turning towards her door and pulling on the handle.

"Where the hell do you think you're going, Jen?" he demanded in a low growl, and her look was unreadable when she stared at him through cold green eyes and thrust open the car door and let in the cool night air.

Wordlessly, she jerked open the glove compartment and retrieved her firearm, concealing it easily at her side. Her eyes stung with the effort she was using to keep herself intact and she turned away from him.

"To be alone," she answered shortly, probably the only words she could manage in a steady, icy voice. She slammed the door and saw out of her peripheral vision as she folded her arms across her chest and started to storm away, him bring his hands down violently on the steering wheel and then run his hands through his hair in frustration.

It was cool here at night, and the slight wind, made sure her tears didn't fall far from her eyes before they dried, but she still wiped at them swiftly and furiously, ashamed of them and the reason they existed. Somewhere, she knew his outburst was due to guilt and his own self-resentment for mucking up their simple assignment, but it smarted to be accused like that and it scared her to be so upset by a few simple words from him.

She'd felt ambushed. Like he was trying to use this as an excuse to end everything and it frightened her, because suddenly she knew she couldn't work for him if he ended it, because this entire affair had ceased to be about sex ages ago and she was just skirting the precipice of admitting to herself how it really affected her. This fight forced her to face it. This was dangerous. She'd never factored him into anything and now, suddenly, it felt like he was everything and it terrified her.

Stopping, Jenny covered her mouth with one hand, blind with blurry tears and unsure of how far she'd walked. She stepped into another alleyway between two buildings and leaned against the cool brick of one of them, closing her eyes and crying silently where no one could see her. She wished it would rain, anything to conceal the dampness of her cheeks.

It had never been hard until this moment. He was easy to be with. He didn't push her for commitment, didn't baby her, he didn't know her past and look at her with pity or like she was just an obsessed griever. He was shrewd, he understood, he was dark; he challenged her. They fought and she thrived on it, except now. It was hard now because he was only voicing what she'd been thinking in the recesses of her mind and she knew, almost verbatim, exactly what he was thinking.

He questioned their choices like she did, maybe for different reasons, but on the same principles, and like her, he chose to ignore them because he found something he wanted in her like she found it in him, whatever _it_ was.

Jenny curved her shoulders inward a little and swept a hand under her eye furiously, leaning her head back and opening her mouth to breathe better. She disliked so much that she was crying over him, over some stupid thing he'd said—but she couldn't stop it. It wasn't logical; it was illogical.

Nothing was logical when you loved someone.

She winced at the thoughts running through her mind. Thoughts her body had accepted and her mind fought against. Love was a four-letter word. Not allowed in her five-point-plan, not part of her vocabulary, and so much of a risk.

She pressed her wrist hard to her forehead to push her thoughts away.

Slowly and silently she calmed herself and regulated her breathing, aware she had to go back and get in the car and face him at some point. Then she could let him silently take her up to bed and wipe her rational thoughts away and she could forget these inconvenient and ridiculous feelings had ever surfaced. They could keep on doing what they were doing and make things easy.

Muffled French reached her; the conversations of people on the streets. Turning away from the busy city area, she walked down the alley and pulled her sweater around her a little tighter, shivering slightly. The smell of food assaulted her and she turned to look around, noticing she was near the Chinese restaurant they were watching.

It was so late. She had no idea what the time was, or if Jethro had gone back to watching for their targets, or if they were even inside the restaurant at all. Jenny paused in the alley and leaned against the wall again, fatigued and ready to capitulate to Jethro and return to the car, when she heard footsteps in the alley.

Or thought she did.

She turned to look, her hand drifting casually to her weapon as if she were slipping a hand in her pocket, and squinted down the alley. She found nothing. Her skin crawled nervously, and something told her she had put herself in a risky situation. She thought she heard footsteps again, and a few lowered voices, and her hand gripped the handle of her gun as she continued to watch, still as a statue, her ears cocked like a hunting dog's.

"Jen."

She heard him call shortly, and her shoulders relaxed just slightly as what must have been Jethro appeared at the front of the alley. He started towards her cautiously. Still, the hair on her neck stood up and she swallowed nervously, feeling nauseous. Almost like a gut feeling that something was off; something was wrong.

She heard a thud and a scuffled behind her and her adrenaline kicked into action as fear struck through her and she turned around, almost running into the tall, dark figure of a man who'd come into the alley right behind her. Already jittery, and too much on the edge, panic consumed her as she found his dark, threatening eyes and drew her firearm as a simple reflex.

Almost as if her world were moving in slow motion, she grabbed his arm and jerked defensively, causing him to stumble; something was so familiar about the look of those glistening eyes that anger flared in her as much as instincts to protect herself and panic induced by the dark alley way.

She didn't know how her gun came to rest at his temple, but her heart was pounding so loudly and her blood rushing so quickly she was lightheaded and felt sick again. She was scared out of her mind and Jethro had been right; she was a little offbeat.

"_SHEPARD_. NO—"

Jethro's harsh shout hurt her ears; it came too late—simultaneous with and yet light years after the single, deadly crack of her gun as she fired point blank into the man in her grasp's head, Jethro's haunting shout and that condemning gunshot the only noise in her suddenly dead silent world.

She knew how big her mistake was. He'd called her _Shepard_.

After she pulled the trigger in her haze, so slow, it all rushed at her way too fast. Hot blood and other fluids sprayed her from head to shoulders and she gasped, stumbling back and releasing her grasp on the man as he fell. She barely avoided being taken down by his weight as she stumbled back, her hand shaking violently where she still held her gun.

She could see his blood, she could see the white shell of his skull, and all she could process was the gun in her hand and the resulting blood on her hands. She felt like screaming, she felt like vomiting, but she couldn't make a sound.

She stood frozen, staring. His eyes, lifeless, stared back up at her, muddy with blood. The eyes of one of the very men she'd heard speak of La Grenouille. It hit her suddenly why she'd found those eyes so familiar; she'd studied him. Followed him. Self-hate surfaced inside her. Her heart constricted and her lungs felt too small. She couldn't breathe.

A hand touched her shoulder gently, pulled her back, and soft breath tickled her ear. Her throat closed up and she gasped in a strangled way, her hand flying, shaking to her mouth to cover her lips. She tasted his blood on her face.

"Jen."

Her name sounded foreign to her, but it was him. Jethro touched her cheek gently and yet his words were harsh and dull, succinct and demanding.

"Go. Back to the car," he'd slipped something over her shoulders, indicating she should try to cover up.

Everything was so heavy on her, her clothing, her hair. Yet she felt like all she was wearing was his blood. Jethro's hand was warm and real through her sweater; she could feel it on her skin. He was pulling her backwards again, slowly, and she suddenly realized he was trying to move her.

"Snap out of it, Jen," he snarled, turning her to face him. His clear, sage blue eyes met hers and he held her gaze firmly, his lips moving precisely. "Go," he ordered her coldly, not with the icy condemnation she expected but with something like fear, and definitely concern.

Her skin, her nerves, her muscles—she was numb all over. She couldn't comprehend what she'd done, she couldn't acknowledge she'd looked straight into another human's eyes and killed him, shot him point-blank in the head without even stopping to evaluate. This blunder was far beyond a probie mistake.

Jethro's rough hand ran over her cheek and her lips, touching her neck, trying to wipe the blood, but he couldn't. He shoved her way from him gently, his eyes still calculating and stern, making her go, and she knew she had to. He would have to fix this. This could end her career.

She didn't know how she made it to the car, or how she kept her composure.

She couldn't force herself to let go of her weapon.

* * *

He saw it happen before she pulled the trigger, and his shout of caution was a desperate reflex he knew would never stop the inevitable from happening.

Her skin was cold as ice when he touched her face, splattered in slick blood and brain matter, her eyes hollow and frightened, and red, for some reason. She didn't speak, and he could see her shaking. Her skin, pale as it was, was a ghostly shade of white that it hadn't even reached when she'd been sick.

He recognized trauma when he saw it. His military action kicked in immediately and he coolly stepped back from the situation, removing himself for a moment from the hysteria of it all. He got her away from the scene. He had no choice but to leave the body, after making sure there were no traces of them ever have being been there. He removed himself before the curious appeared, searching for the sound of the gunshot, and calmly as possible found and alternate route to the car, where she was sitting in the front seat staring blankly straight ahead.

Ducky was in the hall when Jethro lead her through the door, his hand above her elbow in a firm grip. Looking horrified, Ducky rushed over, reaching gently for Jenny, but Jethro pulled her away with a glare and a low assurance:

"It's not her blood."

He didn't answer Ducky's worried question of what had gone wrong.

He resolutely pulled Jenny upstairs, recoiling from the weak shaking of her arm under his grip. It wasn't like her to seem so fragile and so frightened, but she hadn't dealt with this yet. Shooting someone point blank in the head like that, for anyone, wasn't an easy thing to get past.

He slammed the door to his bedroom shut loudly to wake her up and she looked at him, color draining from her face. He pulled her sweater violently off of her shoulders and used it to gingerly wipe the blood off of her face, stepping close to her to crowd her senses, anything to get her to respond. It didn't escape him that she'd obviously been crying, and since he hadn't seen it, he winced inwardly to conclude he'd been the cause of those tears.

Dropping the sweater to the floor, he touched her face without a word and reverently drew his hand down her neck and over her breasts, clutching her waist tightly and drawing her towards him. His hand found hers, where she still clutched her gun so desperately; attaching herself to it, trying to convince herself this wasn't real. He snapped her wrist to the side, forcibly relaxing her iron grip, ignoring her panicked breathing. He locked his gaze onto hers sharply; taking in the fear raging there, fear he'd never seen from her before.

Firmly, he jerked the gun from her steel grasp, shaking his head imperceptibly to keep her from speaking—even if she could. The gun smacked against the back wall as he threw it from them recklessly, easing his hold on her hand and loosening his grip on her wrist. He stroked his hand up her bare arm, touching his fingers to the back of her neck under her tangled hair; she stumbled forward, her weight suddenly thrown against him, her free hand shaking up to his shoulder. A quiet moan escaped her lips and he crashed his against them, comforting her, soothing her.

She broke away gasping, jerking back to try and get away, her eyes darting. He held her shoulders, stroked her hair, just touching her to let her know he was there. She looked smaller than she ever had, more breakable, guilty.

The wounded, frightful look in her eye hit him like a punch to the gut, reminding him she wouldn't have been in that damn alley if he hadn't antagonized her to the breaking point. If he'd just stopped when he knew it was too far. Seized suddenly with fierce need to reassure her, to keep her sane, he pulled her back close and touched her cheeks with both hands, threading his fingers in her hair, he glared at her.

"You do matter, Jen. You _matter_," he said, and she reached up to touch his hands, her breath escaping her shakily.

Her dam broke.

She closed her eyes briefly and started crying. He could only look at her for the first few agonizing moments, watching clear tears spill down her cheeks, mixed feelings spinning through his head. He had never seen Jenny cry, beyond maybe the hint of tears once, and he decided in this moment he was glad because the sight was physically painful to him. It snapped something inside of him.

She was too strong to cry so sadly.

He pulled her close and held her, resting his chin on the crown of her head. She pressed her forehead directly into his chest, her shoulders shivering with every quiet sob, hands slipping from his to his shirt and resting flat against his shoulders, occasionally pressing her nails slightly into the material.

He didn't dare tell her she would be okay. He let her draw what strength she could from him for a few precious moments before they both had to face reality and deal with this. There would be no time to breathe until she got herself out of hot water.

He swore to God he would do it for her.

He left her standing alone in the room with a kiss to the jaw after she quieted a little, storming downstairs and past Ducky's solemn, questioning face to the kitchen where he kept the bourbon. He took a glass upstairs with the bottle and had it poured before he entered the room again. He pulled her to the bed and sat her down, crouching in front of her as she took it.

"Drink," he said shortly, his voice calm, "then wash up. Hot water, Jen. Close your eyes. Then we control this."

He looked at her to see if she understood him. She nodded, her lips parted slightly, her green eyes swimming in crystal tears.

"You made a mistake," he said to her clearly, "a brutal one, one that's hard to face. But it's understandable."

"I looked into his eyes and took his life," she said hoarsely, the first words she'd spoken.

Jethro had no words for her. He remembered, from his days in the Corp., how that moment felt. It never left you. It would never leave her. He didn't have any false words of comfort for her; she didn't even have the alleviation that she'd done what she'd done to save someone. She had messed up.

He reached out as he stood and touched her face again, ran his finger over her lips, pushed her hair back.

"Wash up," he said again, purpose evident in his eyes.

He left the room. She had what she needed from him, and at this moment, their relationship was fractured, not recovered from the blowout it had suffered in the car and somehow strengthened by this. He knew her. She needed to be alone. When she wanted him, she would come.

* * *


	17. Damned

_A/N: thanks to aserene!_

_"I remember you covering for another agent...who messed up." --Jenny Shepard, S3Ep "Probie"_

_And introducting special guest star..._

* * *

Leroy Jethro Gibbs stood silently and stone-like in front of the television as he watched the breaking news report the details of the body found outside a Paris Chinese restaurant, informing the public of the grisly details. Gunshot wound to the side of the head, skull all but demolished, and identified as a wealthy French native who lived above the law in Paris.

"Authorities arrived at the scene within the hour to a crowd of onlookers in the alley lead by the manager of the small restaurant. Armande Assante, a prominent French businessman once suspected of embezzling funds, was being watched by the Federal Authorities as a precaution…"

The phone in Jethro's hand started ringing, for the second time tonight. He'd already spoken with an irate and half-hysterical Decker, maintaining a cool monotone as he spoke, informing their partner that the shot had been fired in self defense. The explanation was false, a lie and yet an easy one; his instincts drove him to protect Jenny.

Mechanically, he lifted the phone to his ear and opened it.

"Gibbs."

"He wants a word with you," Decker said shortly, and Jethro didn't have to ask who. The contact, the inside man they'd never seen hide or hair of, was embroiled in the thick of this and possible compromised by Jenny's slip up.

"Where?" Jethro asked stiffly, his eyes never moving from the screen. Ducky lurked in the shadows somewhere behind him, piecing together events from broken phone conversations and the news reporter's words.

"Take a walk down the street," Decker answered, before the dial tone sounded like a death toll in his ear.

Slowly, he replaced his phone in his pocket and turned away from the news and its chaos. He'd already told Ducky not to let Jenny near a TV; the crime scene photos being shown weren't for her eyes. Moving wordlessly into the hall, he plucked his coat off of the banister and looked up the staircase, pausing momentarily to make sure he still heard the steady pound of running water upstairs.

"Jethro?" Ducky questioned hesitantly.

"I'll be back," he said tersely, yanking the door open and walking out into the night.

It seemed to have cooled by twenty degrees since he'd been out, and the street somehow seemed darker and more foreboding. Nothing was fun and games or black and white anymore, it was all grey from here, and what shade of grey depended on how fast and how well he could affect damage control.

Far down the street, towards the cul-de-sac where normal Paris citizen's resided, Jethro spotted the outline of a man. He leaned against a lamppost outside a dark house that Jenny had decided long ago was deserted; it was crawling in vines and ridden with broken windows. Jethro approached silently and quietly, stopping at the curb and sticking his hands into his pocket. He made sure to rest one near his firearm.

"Special Agent Gibbs,"

The greeting wasn't a question, and his voice was deep, cool, and in full command. Jethro nodded curtly and politely. The man straightened and moved a little out of shadows into the dull, powdery light of the streetlamp, stepping off the curb level with Jethro. Without changing expressions, Jethro studied him.

He was tall, dressed smartly in dark, earthy colors, and possessed of an inconspicuous visage. He wore little facial hair and close-cropped hair otherwise, and his eyes were cold and piercing, ever watching. Jethro figured he intimidated other people easily, but he didn't find him particularly threatening. His voice had given away his ethnicity to begin with and, comically enough, he had a toothpick held between his teeth.

He took it from his mouth and tossed it away carelessly, holding out his other hand firmly.

"You know my name," Jethro said quietly, refusing to extend a hand until he was on the same ground.

"Leon Vance," came the no-nonsense answer, "Special Projects."

Jethro shook his hand shortly, cursing silently.

"Hollywood Agent," he muttered, and received a snort of appreciation.

"We call you Washington boys the FBI's bitches," Leon Vance responded easily, and Jethro afforded him a small scowl.

"We're not here for a pissing contest," Jethro said.

"No," Vance responded in an undertone, "We're certainly not."

He gave Jethro a cool look, hard brown eyes full of accusation.

"We're in a bit of a mess," Vance said delicately, "A mess your probie dragged us into," he continued coldly, his eyes flicking over Jethro's shoulder. "I thought you might bring her along to explain herself."

"Didn't feel like she needed to," Jethro answered coolly.

"The hell she doesn't," Vance growled, his eyes narrowing instantly. He visibly clenched his jaw and kept his voice low and his tone collected. "She's thrown down the gauntlet because of a probie blunder and put the opposition on the warpath. She murdered one of their own and put her colleagues at risk. They won't place nice with Olivia Kasey anymore and I'll be tasked with twisting this our way,"

Jethro waited until Vance's tirade was done, his jaw clenched tightly, tired of being reminded of what he already knew.

"I need to know what happened in that alley," Vance growled, "before I reached the scene."

"Agent Shepard defended herself," Jethro answered curtly, glaring at Leon Vance. He balked at hearing Jenny called blundering and careless; Jenny was shrewd and brilliant and she cared more than most even if she disliked showing it.

"Funny, authorities didn't find a weapon with the body of Armade Assante," Vance snarled sardonically.

"Not surprising," Jethro answered calmly, "when the authorities get involved, his friends wouldn't want him looking the aggressor."

Vance glared at him in the dark, studying every line of his face to try and find the signs of a lie, the falsehood behind his words, and he couldn't. Jethro's face was a complete mask of threat and stubborn resolve.

"You make it sound like she didn't have a choice."

"He pulled a weapon on her," Jethro informed Vance coldly, the exact words he'd said to quit Decker's panicked screeching.

Vance stared at him in silence for two minutes, working things out, trying to pick the best path to take with this information, whether he believed it or not.

"Now why do I know that's not the truth?" Vance asked tersely, to which Jethro held his piercing glare coldly. Vance scowled and his lips parted in a kind of snarl, he slipped both hands into his pocket and scuffed a foot on the ground casually. "Monsieur Assante certainly had noticed Agent Shepard, his 'pretty red bird', if I recall. Seems she's made a few more mistakes than you'd care to admit," Vance paused carefully, "You wouldn't want her actions reflecting on your training, I suppose."

"Bullshit," Jethro snarled, holding back his anger best he could. He hadn't factored Vance's probably knowledge of Jenny's off the grid episode into the equation. Her credibility, and his for concealing that, dipped drastically. Combined with this gaffe, if it got back to Vance, her actions would result in her being pulled immediately and placed under probation, possibly resign to a desk job.

She was too damn good for that.

"You have to admit the evidence is stacked against her," Vance snapped, "Tell me, Agent Gibbs, whether or not she stepped in it. Did Shepard blow it?" he asked violently.

She didn't deserve to have her career ripped away because of this. Jethro couldn't help but see red as his muscles tightened in anger and he glared harshly at Vance, making it clear what his answer was. Something, in the dark, shadowy corners of his mind, asked if he would do the same for any other of his partners, asked him what Mike Franks would do to him. He ignored it. He told himself this had nothing to do with Jenny the woman.

"She defended herself," he repeated, his words like ice dropping into a glass.

Vance glared, his eyes gleaming with displeasure, and then nodded once, curtly.

"Shepard fired in self-defense," he said mildly, with the restrained anger still a connotation in his words.

Jethro nodded stiffly, and Leon Vance leaned back against the lamppost again as he went on. He lifted a hand out of his pocket and put another toothpick in his mouth, like some Italian Mafia Wannabe from the early fifties. Jethro resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the melodrama.

"The main concern—priority, now—is to remove Assante's partner from the streets. He's a Russian native, possibly the link we're looking for anyway. He's shrewd, a real cruel, psychotic bastard," Vance paused and his eyes took on a slightly more irritated look; he glared at Jethro again, "We planned on trapping him tonight,"

"Did we?" Jethro asked shortly, lifting an eyebrow and nothing more. Vance's idea of what had been going on seemed a little different than his brief had been. Vance nodded quickly and continued sharply.

"My cover is intact. It's solid; there's never been as much as a hairline fracture in it. Tonight you and Shepard were in place so I could lead you to believe I was a traitor, prompting one of you to tail myself and Assante's partner," Jethro noticed from Vance's eye movements that he was editing the story, probably operating on a need-to-know order and Jethro was sure he 'didn't need to know'. "You would have seen enough to implicate him in enough to extradite," Vance said, his voice growing tighter with anger, "Until Shepard blew the op to pieces."

Jethro gave the other, slightly arrogant man a stern look. He'd decided he didn't like Leon Vance the moment he saw the damn toothpick sticking out of his mouth. He was full of self-importance, arrogant, and probably just laying in wait to sidle into the Director's chair and turn the agency upside down to suit his needs.

Vance chewed viciously on the toothpick.

"Now he's been given a chance to put the word out on Kasey, maybe even Shepard," Vance paused and his eyes flicked in the direction of the safe house again, "He took a keen interest in Shepard," Vance murmured, and Jethro clenched his fists in his pockets, digging his nails into his palms.

This bastard needed to be found and have his ass kicked if he had it in for Jenny.

"It will be fixed so he comes up as the prime suspect in Assante's murder," Vance said mechanically, snapping out of his thoughts, his anger channeling into a clipped, cool tone, "Kasey will be authorized to bring him in and he'll be detained, keeping her and Shepard safe until I can work something else out to get him with."

"If he gets out?" Jethro asked, knowing he would. If the French system was anything like the American, the rich and the powerful didn't stay in petty prisons for long, no matter what the crime.

"Then Jennifer Shepard better watch her back," Vance said coolly.

Jethro studied the other man intently, sensing something unsettling in him. He gritted his teeth together behind closed lips and moved his head up and down almost imperceptibly to show he understood. Vance pushed forward off the post and scowled, hunching his shoulders in the dark.

"These progressive _women_," he spat out, shaking his head, "This job's dangerous enough without us having to step in and play knight in armor. What the agency was thinking, sending women on ops like these," he trailed off, obviously displeased with the change of events.

It nettled Jethro. Franks had gone on for months when he'd been told they were letting women in, storming around and shouting about short skirts and simpering females and all kinds of sexist, offensive things, and yet he hadn't sounded as blatantly disrespectful and prejudiced as Leon Vance did now. Jethro, unexpectedly, took it as a personal affront for Jenny, and considering the fact that she could probably kick Vance's ass on two hours of sleep with a hangover, he bristled.

"Words like that might come back to haunt you," Jethro said ominously, giving Vance a piercing glare. He could only imagine what kind of haunting Jenny would inflict if she found out what he'd said, especially if she read into it a direct attack on her.

Leon Vance just scoffed and turned to go, his gaze lingering on Jethro over his shoulder.

"She must be the bloody Messiah," he threw out sarcastically, realizing exactly the implication of Jethro's words.

"Agent Shepard is damn good," Jethro growled, glaring right back at Vance.

"Covering for her will never give her the advantage in the long run," Vance said dully, and Jethro kept the same stoic facial expression, giving away nothing. He narrowed his eyes only slightly when Vance couldn't seem to read anything in him and unclenched his jaw.

"She doesn't need me to cover for her," he said in a low voice, "She knows damn well I won't. Why the hell, Leon, would I cover for someone who'd fucked up like she did?"

Vance nodded curtly after a long moment, his eyebrows going up in mild surprise. He turned to go, but not before Jethro's back was to him.

Jethro didn't look back the entire trek back to the safe-house. He paused outside the door, his hand wrapped around the doorknob, briefly closing his eyes and gnashing his teeth together to try and dull the ache of a headache that was coming on. Out of the blue, he lifted his hand and smacked himself on the back of the head in a disciplinary action, letting the magnitude of what he'd done sink in.

He'd covered for her, all right. He'd lied and he didn't regret it and he'd do it again in a heartbeat, because she was good. She wasn't inept or stupid, she was capable and intelligent, quick to learn and clever and hard as nails when it came to getting down and dirty. She was the best he'd ever worked with and she'd made a catastrophic mistake, and he couldn't watch it destroy her chances. NCIS could use her, they needed her.

And he sure as hell wasn't going to let them take him away from her.

So he lied.

Violently, he threw open the door and stormed in, slamming it behind him. The running water had stopped; the house was eerily silent and unwelcome. In the kitchen, soft light glowed, and Ducky appeared in the hall shortly after Jethro's dramatic interest, a glass of water in his hands, his robe wrapped around him. Jethro just looked at him blankly before letting his eyes drift up the stairs.

"You seen her?" he asked, without looking at Ducky.

"No," the older man answered quietly. He paused, and Jethro sensed it and looked at him expectantly. "What happened to her, Jethro? Did someone hurt her?" Ducky asked quietly, his entire being the picture of worry and concern.

"She killed someone," Jethro answered bluntly, moving for the stairs. He gripped the banister tightly as Ducky took in a small gasp and sighed sympathetically. Jethro paused and bowed his head a little, unsure if he should go up to her or not.

"Jethro," Ducky said urgently, his voice still low, "She needs you. Your support," he said, tilting his head. Jethro looked at him mildly, his eyes flickering. He shook his head shortly.

"She'll never need me, Duck," he said, a small smile flickering across his face. Ducky lifted a shoulder.

"Perhaps she wants you," he said instinctively, and Jethro turned from him, going up the stairs silently. He heard Ducky stand quietly and then move away towards his bedroom, opening the door and leaving it so without another word.

The bedroom door was still open, open as he'd left it when he ordered Jenny to shower before he left to perform what damage control he could. He had a certainty now, a bit of stability in everything, and he had something to tell her if she needed it even if she didn't deserve it. He could focus on her, at least.

She stood at the foot of the bed, and turned when she heard him behind her. Her hair was deep crimson because of its dampness and it contrasted sharply with her fair skin. She looked at him, her eyes hollow and upset, still ever so slightly red. He wanted to reach out and touch her, but he just looked at her as he slowly shut the door behind him.

"Jen," he said softly. She flinched. "He pulled a gun on you," he said pointedly, speaking firmly, and slowly.

Her eyes flashed; she seemed to wake up. She shook her head, determined and guilty, and tightened her jaw.

"No, Jethro, he didn't," she said forcefully, her voice husky and quiet. She accepted her mistake, she was beating herself up over it, and he could see it in her darkened and shady eyes. She faced it and cringed from what was staring back at her.

"Yes he did, Jen," Jethro said tersely, letting anger creep into his voice, "He pulled a gun on you," he repeated firmly, enunciating the words sharply as he stared into her eyes purposefully, "and you defended yourself."

Understanding flared in her emerald orbs and her lips parted slightly. She suddenly realized what he had done, what he was doing, for her. Irrationally, she wanted to scream at him. Her mind was playing tricks on her, her emotions where chaotic and impossible to figure out. The kill shot had happened so fast, she couldn't fathom whether she'd meant it or not. Whether it had been a careless mistake brought on my panic, lingering bad judgment from the flu and her distracted feeling of hurt, or a calculated decision made when she looked into the eyes of Armade Assante and realized who he was, she didn't know, but the thought that she'd murdered someone terrified her and made her hate what she could become.

Yet here Jethro stood, covering for her.

He approached her confidently, stopping in front of her without reaching out to touch. She stood before him, trying not to shake like she had been since he dragged her home, wearing nothing but a thin, black lace shift that left almost nothing to the imagination, and he looked only at her eyes. She could have been wearing a snowsuit and she would have felt naked under his gaze. She felt like she couldn't hide from him. He'd seen it. He'd watched it happen.

"You stepped in it, Jen," he said quietly, "It won't happen again."

The way he said it was with confidence, telling her a mistake like this was the mistake to end all mistakes. She knew what he meant. She had to learn to control her impulses, channel her panic. She would, too.

"No more mistakes," Jethro said softly. He said it like he believed she really wouldn't make one again. He didn't know, though, what she was willing to do to achieve the goal she'd joined NCIS with, and the road to her prize was certain to be paved with mistakes.

Namely, him.

Her breath caught in her throat and she fought not to make a sound, closing her eyes lightly from his stare. She crushed her ruthless thoughts away, despising the niggling voice that reminded her she had a path mapped out for her to keep to. That path had suddenly become a forked road and she stood in the middle of it, Grenouille on one side, Jethro on the other.

She opened her eyes, and looked at the latter, swallowing her threatening tears and steadying her voice.

"He came out of nowhere," she said.

"I know,"

"You told me to stop,"

"Jen,"

"I pulled the trigger," she paused and swallowed, wetting her lips, "It was so messy, Jethro," she said sadly, and his heart went out to her. She raised her head a little and gave a twisted, sad smirk, tilting her head.

"You can see when the _life_ leaves someone's eyes," she whispered, her voice catching.

He nodded, his face a mask of calm. He reached out and pressed his hand against her cool cheek, stroking his thumb up and down her jaw lightly. She turned her face against his palm slightly and her lips brushed against what skin she reached.

Silently, he touched her hip with his other hand, feeling her skin through the scant material of her lingerie, letting his fingertips skate over the netted fabric and soft flesh as he trailed his hand up her waist and skimmed the outline of her breast, burying his lips in her hair and listening to the hitch in her throat at his touch.

He spoke quietly to the wall.

"The crime scene's been staged. Your involvement doesn't exist. This doesn't leave Paris, it doesn't touch the records. Cover's intact; as if it didn't happen."

"It happened," Jenny said softly, hatefully.

She would always know what had happened, as would he.

He pressed his lips back into her hair and inhaled the scent of her shampoo, fully aware there was nothing he could say to ease the guilt and pain, and sensing that she couldn't talk anymore, she couldn't find away to voice her feelings and like him, she didn't want to. Not now. Perhaps not ever.

Jenny's small hands wrapped around the lapels of his coat and she pulled him backwards without a word, bringing him down with her onto the bed. His nose was almost touching hers, his knees on either side of her thighs, and he ran a hand up her bare skin under the thin lacy material.

"I need it to hurt," she said hoarsely, her voice shaking.

He touched his lips to hers lightly, watching lust flicker in her eyes briefly among the pain and suffering. He wouldn't dare hurt her on purpose, but he was the only person in the world who knew the feeling she was expressing and what she meant by her request.

"Make love to me. Draw it out," she met his eyes, and he was glad to see her summon her strength a little, even if she looked angry to be saying her next works, "And don't let me wake up alone."

She didn't say anything else. She closed her eyes and pressed her mouth hard against his.

* * *

Donald Mallard stared at the man sitting across the table from him. He watched Jethro drink from a tumbler of bourbon slowly, his face grim, silent as the grace. Jethro sat with his forehead in his palm as if cradling a headache, his eyes hard and blank.

"She's traumatized," he said, continuing their conversation.

"I imagine so," Ducky said softly, filled with sympathy for the poor dear. He nursed a cup of tea himself while he assumed Jennifer slept upstairs. It was early morning now, the sun just starting to reach across the horizon, and Jethro could barely keep his eyes up, much less string coherent words together.

Ducky wished he could help somehow; Jethro seemed to be as down as Jenny was at the moment. Ducky had not seen Jenny since Jethro had brought her in covered in blood and what he, as a medical examiner, recognized as brain matter. For a horrifying moment he'd thought she was fatally injured until Jethro's quick assurance she wasn't.

He didn't know, for Jenny's sake, which was worse.

She was a kind, caring woman under her hard exterior, a woman who'd faced a few obstacles that had strengthened a resolve in her never to let anyone in. Ducky had analyzed that much from one cup of tea with her. He knew she admired Jethro and cared for his good opinion, he'd seen her need for his approval after Gibbs had made her cry that day, long ago now, it seemed, back in D.C. and she'd come to Ducky seeking comfort.

Ducky had noticed, observed, whatever you wished to call it, Jenny's subtle change in behavior around Jethro. She stood closer, as did he, she touched him more freely, whether it was to grasp his arm while she laughed or hit his shoulder in annoyance. Even in casual conversation with any given person, her eyes now had a soft quality to them. Her edges didn't seem so rough. He didn't know if Jethro had noticed the change, but Ducky was willing to bet he himself had before Jethro would, and it was why he'd chosen to speak to his good friend in the kitchen while Jenny was sick.

Ducky didn't want to see her heart broken.

But now, as he watched Jethro struggle with something inwardly across the table, his opinions shifted slightly. He recognized the look of a man who was watching someone he cared for drown without being able to throw in a life jacket. Jethro knew he couldn't help her and he was frustrated and angry with himself, and Ducky could read it in his tense muscles and set jaw.

He realized he had been very wrong. He could no longer tell who was in deeper in their affair, but he could recognize that neither one of them was capable of handling it. They were both equally blindsided and terrified by the implications of their intimacy.

Ducky sighed. It frustrated him. They were so stubborn and so closed off. Why couldn't they see they could find solace in each other if they'd just let it be?

"What if she can't get past this?" Jethro muttered to himself, and Ducky looked up.

"She will," he offered simply.

"This makes or breaks an agent, Duck," he said hoarsely, "Whether they can get past their first real kill. Others haven't been able to take it."

Her first two kills hadn't been the same. To this, they didn't measure up, they didn't count.

"Jennifer is different than 'others'," Ducky soothed calmly, giving Jethro a piercing look, "she possesses an inner strength. And," he hesitated only slightly, "her situation is different. Her partner will be damned before letting this ruin her."

Jethro looked at Ducky sharply but didn't say a word. He gripped his coffee cup tightly, staring at Ducky, and looked away, taking a drink again.

"You approve or something now, Duck?" he asked sarcastically.

Ducky smiled softly.

Jethro slammed his coffee cup down and pushed it away from him, glaring at it on the table. He rubbed his face in frustration and rested his arms on the table, leaning back a little. His fist clenched.

Ducky watched in silence as Jethro stood up and pushed his chair away roughly, running a hand through his hair. He gave the medical examiner a quick, searching look and then started towards the door, where he turned back.

"I don't want to hurt her," he said, shrugging his shoulders simply.

Ducky watched him leave the room, almost not believing he'd heard the words. He leaned back and sighed, mulling over the out of character, shocking words of Leroy Jethro Gibbs. If she had him thinking things like that, perhaps Jennifer Shepard was the best thing to happen to him yet.

Jethro took the stairs quickly and slipped silently back into his room, shutting the door skillfully without its tell-tale click. He crossed the dark room to the bed and stood, watching her for a moment. She moved minutely, her head shifting every now and then, or her fingers curling. The sheets were wrapped around her tightly and her hair was spread out in a mass of curls over the mattress. Pillows were on the floor and in general disarray, but that was his fault.

Jenny flinched in her sleep and jerked her head violently to the side.

Without a sound, Jethro pulled off his t-shirt and lay down next to her, sliding his arm around her waist to pull her closer. She resisted, then settled into his side and calmed, her breathing becoming steady again. Methodically, Jethro stroked her hair, unable to sleep even though he was tired as hell.

Thoughts weighed too heavy on his mind, the most prominent concerning Jenny and the warnings Leon Vance had given about those who suspected Jenny, even nicknamed her 'little red bird'. Anger coursed through him at the very thought and he pulled her closer; satisfied in the way she sighed and curled into him. Ducky was right.

He'd be damned before he let this break her. He'd be damned before he let anything harmful touch her.

* * *

_...Leon Vance!_


	18. Thunderstorms

_A/N: Thanks to aserene!_

**

* * *

**

Leroy Jethro Gibbs watched Jenny carefully from his seat across the table from her, his eyes flicking up to her bowed head as her hand shook slightly again. He bit his tongue to keep from saying anything; she was obviously trying to ignore it and was likely to kill him if he brought it up.

She had been more than on edge for the past few days.

They sat in comfortable silence in the kitchen, files and papers spread out before them. At a loss for ways to pull her out of her recent funk, Jethro had finally opted for the one thing that numbed his nerves when he experienced something hard to deal with: work.

They were noting every connection and every deed, suspected or proven, of their targets, each and everyone, including Armande Assante. Jenny had selected that file without a word from the pile, and Jethro had held his tongue, though he wasn't sure she should be obsessing over the man she'd killed's profile.

It had been raining when they'd started two hours ago, but the thunder and lightening hadn't started until a short while ago, and that's when Jenny had started tensing. Now she was jumping slightly and shaking every time thunder crashed. He remembered her saying she hated storms, but he was just now realizing she was actually petrified of them.

He didn't quite know how to tell her it was all right without alluding to the weakness and angering her. Any slight mention of any kind of weakness was sending her into a rage.

At least she was eating. Her forehead rested lightly in her palm and her hair hung around her face in soft waves. She kept picking at a plate of grapes when she got frustrated, or needed a break from the writing. Jethro reluctantly admitted he was doing more watching than work, and the way she suddenly flicked her eyes up to him and met his eyes pointedly proved she knew he was scrutinizing her.

Jenny looked back down and crossed her legs, eating a grape and picking up her pen again. The soft scratch of writing began again. Rain pounded against the windows, alternating between a soft sprinkle and a maelstrom of water. The lights kept flickering precariously, and every time they did Jenny would pause and flutter her eyes.

She wasn't sleeping. She was subdued and a bit closed off. She wasn't shutting him out, she'd just lost a bit of her playfulness and Jethro found himself sincerely hoping she would snap out of this soon, or at least find a way to come to terms with it. It was strange how much he missed her laughter.

Thunder crashed violently and her hand jerked to the side, the only sign she'd jumped. She was clearly trying hard to remain unaffected by the storm. Jethro watched her closely, still biting his tongue. He had almost decided to say something when the rain suddenly became louder and he spotted Ducky coming in the house down the hall, soaking wet from his floppy hat to his rubber boots.

The door slammed forcefully as the medical examiner hurried in. Jenny glanced up at Jethro and laid her pen down again, picking up a grape and examining it blankly. Ducky shuffled down the hall and pulled a large manila file out of his coat pocket, having managed to keep it shielded from the torrent of rain. He smiled a little slowly.

"Easy enough," he stated calmly, handing the file easily to Jethro. Jenny's eyes followed it piercingly; she knew exactly what it was.

Jethro nodded to Ducky and Ducky nodded back, their silent thanks and welcome to the other. Jethro laid the file down on the table for later perusal. It was Leon Vance's official written report on how Armande Assante had ended up dead. Jethro knew almost verbatim what was in there, and Jenny's name wasn't.

"Quite the storm outside," Ducky said, sounding a bit nervous. Jethro looked at him more closely at the tone in his voice. Ducky shifted his feet, stepping back a little. Jenny made an annoyed noise in the back of her throat at the mention of the storm.

"Duck?" Jethro asked, creasing his brow. Ducky looked embarrassed, if he was any judge on facial expressions. Jethro considered himself fairly infallible at reading people.

"Yes," Ducky said, clearing his throat. He reached into his coat again slowly, "I believe I found something of yours in the car, Jenny," he said with a small cough. He pulled the item out of his jacket and smiled a little bashfully, "At least, I certainly hope for Jethro's sake this is yours."

Jethro used all his resolve not to show any reaction or emotion at seeing Jenny's black lace bra dangling by one thing strap from Ducky's index finger.

Jenny's eyes widened slightly and her nose wrinkled, her cheeks coloring a light pink.

"Oh my god," she mumbled ineloquently in a hushed voice. "Ducky!" she hissed, as if it were his fault.

She hadn't noticed it was gone; she'd been so preoccupied. In fact, it was a little disconcerting to her that she hadn't even noticed not putting it back on before she'd left the car that night. Jethro was delighted to see the color in her cheeks, even if she was mortified.

Jenny meekly held out her hand and Ducky placed her undergarment in her palm with a small knowing smirk.

"I suppose I shouldn't ask how the stakeout was," Ducky said lightly.

"No, Duck," Jethro murmured softly, shaking his head dangerously. Jenny's eyes flashed slightly but she didn't say anything. Ducky's smile faltered and his mouth fell shut as he recognized his blunder. Quite obviously, the stakeout had not turned out well.

"I'll be taking an early night," Ducky said quietly, giving them both a small wave. He leaned over and gave Jenny a chaste kiss on the cheek, giving her a sparkle-eyed, teasing look "Not to worry my dear. I'm not an old gossip," he assured her secretively.

Jenny afforded him a genuine smile. Jethro could have breathed a massive sigh of relief, but he restrained himself. At least she still knew how to smile. Ducky meandered away, his coat dripping a path on the tile, and Jenny remained still for a short moment before lifting her hand and throwing her bra violently across the table at him with a sharp look in her eye.

Jethro snorted and caught it effortlessly, giving it an arrogant look. He lifted an eyebrow at her suggestively and she retaliated by posing her finger by a grape and flicking at him expertly. He laughed and brought up his hand to deflect it. Jenny smiled again, her shoulders slackening a little.

Thank God Ducky had lightened the weighty atmosphere, even if he had had to embarrass the hell out of Jenny to do it.

She went for another grape, this time determined to hit him, when lightening lit up the entire kitchen and thunder rumbled through the sky, deafeningly loud and cracking like repetitive gunshots. She nearly leapt out of her seat, smashing her wrist into the plate of grapes and sending them flying, her cheeks paling again.

"Jenny," Jethro soothed quietly, watching as she bit her lip hard and her shoulders tensed right back up. Ignoring his resolution to be sensitive to her recent mood, he got up and came around behind her, putting his hands on her shoulders and rubbing softly to ease the tension. Thunder boomed again and she shuddered involuntarily.

"You're really scared of these, huh, Jen?" he stated; only meaning for it to sound a little like a question. She could deny it if she wanted but it would be a feeble lie.

She just reached up and touched his hand. Lightening flickered, and the lights dimmed considerably. Jenny winced and shoved her paperwork away. Frustrated with her emotional state, Jethro squeezed her shoulders tightly and then removed his hands, walking purposefully to the cabinet and pulling out a sealed bottle of bourbon and the two tumblers they commonly used.

He let the cabinet slam closed and jerked his head towards the hall, pausing in front of Jenny expectantly.

"What are you doing?" she asked hoarsely.

"Getting you drunk," he answered seriously, sure it was a fine way to distract her from her fright of the storm and take everything else off of her mind. "Remember that drinking game I mentioned?"

Jenny's eyes darkened suspiciously and she nodded, standing up to be more level with him. She tilted her head to the side, studying him, waiting for him to elaborate.

"Think you can hold your own?" he asked, lifting en eyebrow challengingly.

"If you've got enough bourbon," she answered smartly, letting a small smirk crawl across her lips. Jethro shoved a tumbler into her hands and started for their bedroom.

* * *

Minutes, maybe hours later, she sat on the floor next to him, leaning carelessly against him and the bed, her laughter echoing around the room. Jethro snorted at a joke that normally wouldn't be this funny and steadied Jenny's hand so she wouldn't spill whatever glass of bourbon she was on now.

The bottle on the bedside table had only ounces left, though that couldn't wholly be blamed on the redhead. Jethro had his fair share, and neither one of them could claim proper sobriety. Jenny sipped her drink carelessly again and clutched his arm, turning her face to him expectantly with a cocked eyebrow.

He gave her a serious look.

"Once for every time you've slept with your boss," he decided, his eyes gleaming.

Jenny glanced into her tumbler and then burst into laughter, running her hand up his arm and touching his face softly.

"There isn't enough bourbon left," she informed him, attempting to remain solemn. He smirked at her importantly and dumped what was left of his drink into hers, indicating she should at least attempt or she would lose the game.

Jenny lifted the glass to her lips and closed her eyes as she downed the generous amount of bourbon in her glass, setting it triumphantly next to her thigh when she was done and looking at him with superiority.

"That was only two shots," he told her, "You lose."

She glared at him in outrage.

"It was an unfair statement!" she protested, gesturing at the near empty bottle of bourbon. Jethro narrowed his eyes at her playfully and shrugged his shoulders. He was decidedly less drunk than her, but finally seeing her so loose and relaxed was easing his stress as well and he was a lot more susceptible to her at the moment.

She hadn't reacted negatively to the thunder in an hour, and the storm was steadily worsening outside. The lights had yet to go out, but he suspected they would at some point. Speak of the devil, thunder crashed and Jenny shrieked in surprise, covering her mouth to muffle the sound at the last moment and snuggling up to his side, almost crawling into his lap.

She laughed into his shoulder and shifted her head, apparently amused at her own actions.

She shook a little, probably a physical reaction to her fear of storms, but mentally she seemed fine, other than the drunken shriek of surprise. He moved his glass as she squirmed in his lap and shifted to straddle him, holding the empty crystal tumbler between them as she smiled beautifully and wrapped one hand around his, prying his fingers loose and taking the glass away.

"To the victor go the spoils," she sighed melodramatically; her hands crawling up his button-down shirt to his shoulders. She arched a perfect eyebrow and giggled as her small fingers found the first closed button, pulling it through easily.

Jethro smirked and ran his hands up her bare thighs until he reached the cotton hem of her summery shorts, pausing to trace her skin outside of the material. Jenny's eyes darkened and she leaned into him, pressing her body close to his and tilting her head to kiss his neck behind the ear, finding the nerve that affected him so much. She sucked gently on his earlobe and then moved her lips against his skin, smiling.

Jethro slipped his hand up her shorts and brushed against the silk of her panties, listening to her suck in her breath sharply and press her mouth more closely to his neck. He ran his other hand up her side to her breast and touched her through her old and worn t-shirt, just listening to her breathing change.

"Jethro," she whimpered in his ear, kissing his jaw, shifting towards his hands slightly, her nerves alighting under his touch, the feeling magnified by alcohol and the inexpressible need she been feeling for him lately that she'd been unwilling to admit to.

His hand dipped beneath the silk and she moaned softly, her eyelashes fluttering against his temple as she turned her face toward his. She maneuvered a hand between him down to his jeans, finding the button and letting her hand linger. He teased her mercilessly.

"I love how you make me feel," she whispered huskily, her breath hitching. Desire and heat pooled in the pit of her stomach and she moaned again, gasping in protest when he pulled his hand back slightly.

She released his button and loosened his zipper, gritting her teeth together, angling her hips towards him again.

"Tease," she whined with a smile, feeling his groan as she adjusted her position and pressed against his legs. She felt him straining through the rough material of his jeans and bit her lip, letting the need rush through her blood.

Jethro mumbled her name hoarsely and grasped her arm at the elbow, standing up suddenly and pulling her with him. Jenny stumbled at the dizzying upset, the bourbon coursing through her veins muddying her thoughts and equilibrium. He pushed her down on the bed and crawled over her. She pulled him down to her insistently, barely giving him time to get her shorts off before she drew his lips to hers intoxicatingly.

He tasted like bourbon, better than bourbon. He was a completely different brand of alcohol that could make her forget. Drunk as she was, and drunk as he knew she was, she hadn't forgotten why she needed to be this drunk in the first place. In the fuzzy corners of her mind, she knew he was trying to fix everything, and he was doing a damn good job of it even though she knew it would never really be repaired.

"Jen," he murmured her name, his lips falling against her neck, finding the sensitive spot on her throat that made her keen for him. She wrapped her legs around him tightly, halfway there before he slipped into her and gasped her name again.

She threaded her fingers in his hair and pulled his mouth onto hers hard, her muscles clenching and turning to liquid beneath him. She kissed him hard and deep, letting him swallow her cries.

"Take it easy, Jen," he said, running one hand up her side and memorizing the hot, slick feel of her fevered skin.

She broke away and arched tightly against him, heels digging into his back, her release breaking over her as his built up. She dug her nails into his shoulders and wrapped her hands tightly around his biceps, still letting his name tumble from her lips until he braced an arm next to her head and shuddered over the edge after her and collapsed on his side next to her, his head resting on her shoulder and his mouth buried in her damp, tangled red hair.

Jenny closed her eyes and caught her breath, running her hand up and down his spine. His ragged breathing was loud in her ears, not at all unwelcome and almost a mantra of comfort. Jethro trailed his hand over her stomach and draped his arm across her waist lightly.

"Think you need to learn how to pace yourself," he commented in a mumble, drawing a breathless laugh from her.

"Or you could keep up," she shot back quietly, her hand pausing at the back of his neck. He grinned against her cheek.

"Where's the fun in that?" He smirked and kissed her slowly, the way he always did in moments like these, like he tasted the afterglow on her lips. "Over too fast," he continued, nuzzling her neck.

"Not often you hear a man say that," Jenny quipped archly, lapsing into giggles. Jethro pulled her closer against him and continued kissing down her throat slowly. Thunder suddenly crashed louder than it had the entire night and Jenny stiffened immediately, letting out a quiet gasp.

Jethro looked up and brushed his hand against her cheek as she squeezed his shoulders with a small, annoyed smile and tried to laugh it off, her eyes clearly shaken.

"Sounds like a war," she whispered.

"Why does it scare you so much, Jen?" Jethro asked curiously, tilting his head at her. The spiders, even if he thought it funny, he could understand; he wasn't particularly fond of centipedes. Storms though...for some reason, he'd figured she was the type to sit watching them from the porch.

"I'm not afraid of them," she answered seriously, irritation creeping into her voice. Jethro ignored the rebuff and lifted an eyebrow mildly. She attempted to glare and narrow her eyes at him, but faltered under his piercing glare.

Jethro studied her intently; it slowly clicking in the back of his mind what it was about her face when she lied that gave her away. He'd been trying to figure it out, he'd noticed ages ago that something was off when she lied and it was why he always managed to keep pushing until he drew the truth out or stopped, satisfied to know she was lying.

Barely noticeable, the lashes on her right eye fluttered subtly in a miniscule twitch when she fibbed or outright made something up. She most likely didn't even know she had a tell, or she, being Jenny, would have figured out a way to fix it. Jethro ran his hand up and down her side lazily.

"I don't care," he said nonchalantly, shrugging a little. When she looked at him curiously, uncomprehending, he continued: "If you're scared."

"Since when?" Jenny fired back, rolling her eyes. It was a defense mechanism, he could tell, meaning she really didn't want to answer the question. It bothered him slightly, to think he'd ever given the impression she wasn't allowed to express fear.

"Fear doesn't matter if you're strong enough to overcome it," he said pointedly, giving her a look to show he knew she clearly had the capacity to overcome it. Not falling to hysterical pieces during the storm proved that, "Everyone is afraid of something."

"That was cliché," Jenny informed him, smirking a little. She shifted again, burrowing down into the sheets and pillows, relishing the comfort of being wrapped in his arms and lightheaded and drunker than she'd let herself get in a long time. She lifted an eyebrow and giggled.

"What are you afraid of, _Jethro_?" she asked loftily.

"Nothing."

Jenny glared at him. He smirked. Looking at him with unreadable eyes for a moment, Jenny remained quiet and then parted her lips hesitantly before she spoke, quieter this time.

"Something bad happened once, during a storm," she said simply, her voice steady. "Storms destroy things."

Jethro nodded slightly at the answer. Fear of storms wasn't uncommon, but for most it was irrational, a dislike of the noise or a wariness of the dangers of lightening, or driving in the bad weather. For her, it seemed, the fear was associated with stress.

Jenny disliked his close scrutiny and wriggled away from him a little, pushing herself up into a sitting position. She drew the haphazard sheets with her and sat back against the headboard, her middle wrapped in the sheet and her legs and shoulders bare.

Jethro wrapped his hand around her ankle and squeezed gently, touching her leg reverently while she sat quietly. Her mood flickered quickly; she'd been a mess of laughter and teasing under the influence moments ago, then a passionate lover, and now he sensed her pulling away.

"Talk to me, Jenny," he said, looking at her.

She turned her head sharply to give him an icy look that surprised him.

"You always want me to talk," she said shortly, "and you never do."

He narrowed his eyes slightly and compressed his lips, choosing not to respond. He pushed her to respond to him sometimes, often, even—but that was because he knew she needed the weight off of her shoulders, even if her independence and pride would prefer he didn't know she wanted help. She had the ability to ease her pain through communication; he didn't talk because he couldn't. He couldn't find the words. He didn't understand the point.

Jethro inched his hand up her leg, stretched out on his stomach close to her, his attention focused on her legs. He pulled her calf towards him and kissed her below the knee, waiting for her to cool down.

"Sorry," she muttered suddenly, and he shrugged. He didn't give a damn if she apologized or not. It wasn't as if she'd hurt his feelings.

"Jethro," she said quietly after a moment, to pull his attention. He lifted his mouth from its lingering place above her knee and looked at her. She shifted her head and rested it against the headboard, her hair tumbling over her shoulders in a waterfall as she looked at him in resignation.

"When I," she paused only briefly, "murdered Assante in the alley,"

"Jen," Jethro interrupted harshly, "you didn't murder anyone."

"We're not really going to pretend I fired in self defense?" she asked nastily, springing back into hostility again. Jethro gave her a hard look to answer her question and then went on slowly.

"You killed someone," he stated slowly, "Murder is a premeditated, cold-blooded act. It's different," he informed her, staring into her eyes purposefully. He sure as hell didn't want her deeming herself a murderer. That was sure to shake anyone's beliefs to the core. "You aren't capable of murder," he said softly, lifting her knee slightly and kissing her again.

"You don't know what I'm capable of," Jenny murmured darkly. Jethro didn't bat an eyelid. He wasn't foolish enough to see her as a weak-kneed woman who'd never dare raise a weapon in anger against someone, but he knew her well enough to see that killing bothered her, if her reaction to the unfortunate death of a criminal at her hands was any indication. She was sensitive and kind beneath everything else in her personality and he couldn't see her willing to look into someone's eyes after planning their death and shooting.

"When I shot him, then," she conceded, a little sarcastically, with a short nod at him. She stopped to find her words and shifted her leg, letting Jethro stretch it out in front of her and brush his lips higher up on her thigh.

"I thought everything was over. Right there."

He paid closer attention now, listening to her and also watching her facial expressions, her eyes and her body language. She looked him straight in the eye.

"I saw my career go up in flames," she said quietly, her voice softening. Her eyes lost a little of their brightness and she looked lost, and sad. "NCIS is my life," she said with quiet force, "This job is all I have."

Jethro searched her eyes intently, curiously, wondering what was driving her to throw her entire being into this agency and what had drawn her to the Navy in the first place. He didn't ask because she wouldn't tell him, somehow he knew that. It was a personal decision, like his choice to join the marines.

He shrugged.

"You have me," he offered, a small smirk on his lips. He hadn't planned on saying it; it sounded so permanent. But it felt right.

Jenny looked momentarily taken aback and then her eyes flickered with something he couldn't place. She smiled a little, a genuine smile he was glad to see again, and shook her head just slightly.

"Not forever," she said.

He didn't respond. He didn't know how to: was she asking if he'd commit to her, make a promise, never leave—or was she stating that she couldn't do any of those things herself. The uncertainty was unnerving. He wasn't at all prepared to answer those questions should she ask him, and he was reluctant to hear her answers to them should he ask. It was like a stalemate.

The conversation had gotten heavy fast.

"You protected my job," she stated, looking at him with that perturbing, unreadable look again.

Jethro, gauging every word said and thinking them over like they were hand grenades, narrowed his eyes slightly and stroked the inside of her thigh, remaining silent. Her eyes took on a hard, and somewhat insecure look that she tried to quell before she spoke again, trying to remain casual.

"Why?"

And suddenly he saw it. He knew exactly what was plaguing her: Would he have covered for her if he hadn't been sleeping with her. She didn't know if he valued her or her skills, or what part of her he valued at all, and it was eating at her as she tried to figure it out. Her competitive drive to excel and her ambition demanded to know if he had covered for her just because he was partial to her company or because he trusted her implicitly and thought she was capable.

Jethro didn't bat an eyelid or miss a beat.

"Because you're damn good," he said emphatically, a low growl, answering both questions.

He valued every single aspect of this partnership, light or dark, hard or easy, business or pleasure.

Jenny let out a shaky breath, unaware she'd been holding it in her throat this entire time. She wished the carefree revelry of half an hour ago would come back, but she couldn't recapture that now. Her shoulders felt lighter, her mind eased slightly but there were still so many things going on in her head. The alcohol only served the muddle them now, and probe her into saying things she wouldn't normally say. It wasn't just her; Jethro was responding more. Talking to her, which was a rare occurrence, with something akin to emotion in everything he said.

She didn't know how he did it, but his answers were always right. Not always easy, but always just what she needed to hear. She kept letting him ever closer than she meant to and she felt like she was drowning, but it felt good. She didn't think she'd ever be able to disentangle herself from him; he was embedded under her skin like no one should be. It was infuriating, what he did to her.

"You bastard," she said in a hushed voice.

Jethro raised an eyebrow at her in very mild amusement, not questioning or protesting against the moniker. He pushed himself up on his knees and crawled forward, pulling her down insistently to the bed and jerking the comforter up around them. He pulled her warm body close and crowded his head onto her pillow, forcing her to adjust her position and rest hers on his arm instead.

"You're a mean drunk," he commented in a mock-petulant mumble into her hair.

Softly, Jenny smiled, and he kissed her hair, satisfied that she was at ease again. She tangled her legs in between his and stayed close; for the first time she didn't roll away after she fell asleep to sprawl out next to him and allow them their space. Her nightmares left her alone, for once; so did his.

* * *

_"I'm a whole lot easier to talk to when I've had a few..." -George Strait, song 'Living for the Night'_


	19. That'll Be the Day

_A/N: Thanks to Aly! This chapter is edited because she made me do my algebra homework..._

_"He said that to me in Paris when I told thim that I--" --Jenny Shepard, S3Ep "Hiatus Part 1"_

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Jenny Shepard felt at ease in the magnificent palace that was the Louvre museum. Everything around her was so elegant and beautiful, and the atmosphere was quiet and calm. People spoke quietly, walked carefully, and generally avoided close contact with each other.

People meaning everyone except a certain Leroy Jethro Gibbs, who kept running his hand up her arm or threading his fingers in her hair if she stood looking at something for a period of time. She didn't at all mind the attention, though; it made her feel incredibly relaxed to know he was there to glare at anyone who looked like a threat to her current peace. He was, after all, the one who'd brought her without a word to the Louvre without any prompting; he deserved to play with her hair if it struck his fancy to do so.

Jenny moved slowly through the museum, taking in the artifacts and artwork, even the building itself, unsure if she'd ever have the chance to see it again. Many of the things reminded her of conversations she wanted to have with Ducky, others reminded her of her father, and some she just loved for their beauty or the romance they held. Jethro hadn't whined or complained once so far; in fact, Jenny would go as far as to say he was interested by the Roman and Egyptian collections even if he wouldn't admit it if someone pointed a gun at him.

Jenny reached behind her and removed his hand from her hair gently, pulling him forward and giving him a smirk. She tilted her head towards her next destination and he nodded, removing his hand from her grip and putting it obstinately back in her hair.

"Possessive, much?" she murmured, lifting an eyebrow mildly. He rubbed small circles into her neck with his thumbs, sending shivers down her spine.

"That guy over there looks suspicious," he answered darkly.

"The one with the walking cane?"

Jethro nodded seriously. Jenny giggled quietly. She wasn't sure if it was considered socially acceptable to giggle in the Louvre.

"It's going to be hell to work out those tangles later," she reprimanded him with a sigh, grabbing his shirt and pulling him a little more insistently towards the final place they had to visit.

"I'll help," he suggested with a smirk.

Jenny snorted. She released Jethro's shirt when he fell into step next to her and glanced around with a little more interest in the building than her hair.

"What's this one called?"

"_Salle des Etats_," she replied fluidly. It never ceased to amaze him that she could so easily slip into French with barely a hint of an American accent. Though it also annoyed the hell out of him because it simply meant French men paid attention to her even more than usual. She turned heads; he liked to make sure when the heads looked closer they saw him.

Jenny noticed the scowl on Jethro's face and rolled her eyes with a small smile, avoiding the mulling tourists stumbling around in the Louvre. In her opinion, she'd saved the best for last. The other exhibits were fascinating and lovely, but the hall where DaVinci's works were located was what she'd been eager to see.

Jenny stopped in front of one of the artist's most famous paintings. She poked Jethro's shoulder to make him look and studied the painting with interest. It was a little awe-inspiring to be standing in front of the real thing and not a miniature recreation.

"This is my favorite," she stated admiringly. She didn't know why it was; she wasn't a particularly religious person. DaVinci's work in general intrigued her because it was slightly ironic in its reverence for faith. The conspiracy theories were fun as well.

"_The Last Supper_?" Jethro asked, a bit skeptically.

Jenny tried not to reveal her surprise at hearing him state the painting's name, but she had yet to succeeded in really hiding anything from him. She smiled slightly and he gave her a look.

"I know things," he stated cryptically, and a little defensively in her opinion. She nodded and looked back at the painting.

"Why do you like this one?" Jethro ventured, his hand inching towards her hair again. Jenny glanced at him out of her peripheral vision and didn't stop it.

"You look at it," she started, tilting her head a little, "and you think its clear what DaVinci was trying to say, or show. But if you study DaVinci's history, and look at some of the theories of his life and beliefs, it means something completely different," she smiled slightly, "It's not what you think it is."

Jethro pulled all of her hair to one side and threw it over her shoulder, turning his head to look at the painting. It was old, no doubt about that, and a classic picture of what the common belief was about the events of the Last Supper. He knew vague details of conspiracy theories; he used to watch History Channel enough. Besides, when you worked with Ducky, you tended to pick up random facts.

"It's the same with all of DaVinci's work," Jenny stated, shaking her head minutely and giving him another look when he glared at her for thwarting his attempts to mess with her hair. She flashed a toothy grin and sauntered off down the hall, making him catch up. She paused briefly at what paintings captured her interest until she got to possibly the most famous at all and smirked, looking up at it.

"They really don't want you stealing this one," she remarked, pointing out the bullet proof glass mounted around Leonardo DaVinci's _Mona Lisa_.

"Never did get the big deal about it," Jethro said, giving the painting a distasteful look. Why the entire world thought a picture of a woman giving a secretive little smirk was so fascinating, he would never know. In his experience, secretive little smirks and women usually meant he was about to get hit with a golf club.

"Everyone wants to know what she's hiding behind that smile," Jenny said, shrugging.

"Murderous agenda?" Jethro suggested.

Jenny flicked his shoulder.

"You're getting paranoid in your old age," she teased, smirking at him. She tilted her head at the painting and shrugged a little. It didn't intrigue her all that much either. She could care less what Mona Lisa was hiding.

"There's a theory that it's a portrait of DaVinci's mother," Jenny said lightly.

"There's also a theory it's DaVinci in drag," Jethro informed her with a smirk. Jenny narrowed her eyes at him playfully and bit back laughter.

"Don't mock history's greatest painting in its own home!" she protested, hitting his shoulder lightly. She shook her head and rolled her eyes. "You _would_ know that theory."

He decided not to shatter her illusions of Ducky and let her know that the medical examiner himself supported that theory. Jenny looked slightly closer at the painting and then turned, nodding solemnly to Jethro.

"Do you know how heartbroken the world would be if it were known that this painting was nothing more than Leonardo DaVinci's secret longing to be a female exposed?"

"The sky would fall," Jethro responded sarcastically.

Jenny laughed.

"It might just," she said, reaching up to push her hair back off of her shoulders and down her back. She turned away from the famous _Mona_ _Lisa_ and glanced around at the increasing crowd, glad they'd arrived early and made it through in fairly good time.

"Let's go," she suggested, raising her eyebrow at him. "Maybe this time around you won't get lost in Eastern Antiquities."

"I did not get lost," Jethro grumbled, glaring at her.

"Yes, you did," she gloated, turning her back on him and starting away. She could feel Jethro scowling at the back of her head and she smiled to herself. She'd had to go back through the displays and find him, and she still couldn't get him to admit he'd gotten completely turned around.

"If you weren't lost," she asked conversationally as he caught up to her and fell into step, "what were you doing, exactly? Playing hide and seek?"

She giggled, amused by her comment, and he rolled his eyes petulantly.

"At least I've never locked myself in Interrogation," he fired back in her ear. Jenny immediately sobered and turned her own glare on him. He smirked. That shut her up fast. It hadn't been long after she'd started working for him but somehow—and he to this day did not know how she managed it—she had locked herself in the Interrogation room and had remained there until Pacci brought in a suspect and found her asleep on the table.

"In my defense, no one told me that when the door was locked you can't open it from the inside," she informed him defensively, "and I don't know _why_ it was locked anyway. At least I noticed you were missing after two minutes," she added, narrowing her eyes again. "Remind me how long I was in Interrogation?"

Jethro had the grace to look slightly abashed.

"Five hours."

Jenny nodded emphatically, turning up her nose and indicating it would be wise if he ended the battle there. Not noticing your partner had disappeared was an inexcusable offense, and five hours was considerably longer than two minutes.

When they exited the magnificent palace that was the Louvre Museum, Jenny pulled her jacket tighter around her and folded her arms, her shoes clicking on the pavement as they walked. She'd opted for small heels instead of her usual flashy ones, but these were comfortable and she loved them. It was getting slowly colder, now that it was into November, and she was considering buying herself a winter coat. She hadn't thought to bring one.

"Coffee?" Jethro suggested, slipping an arm around her shoulders.

"Why are you never cold?" she asked grumpily instead, turning her head up to give him a jealous look.

"'Cause then you'd never be warm."

"Good answer," Jenny informed him, taking advantage of his warmth and snuggling into his side. She thought about it for a minute and then: "Hot chocolate," she decided in response to his question. He made a face at her but nodded all the same.

Jenny squinted a little in the sunlight and pointed forward across the courtyard.

"They'll have cafés in the Tuileries Gardens," she said, interested in seeing the Tuileries Palace courtyard anyway.

Jethro shrugged to indicate his acceptance and headed for the place Jenny had pointed out. There were people all over, but he assumed it was considerably less than there would normally be if it were a summer day. Jenny pulled away when they got into the grass and shady trees, wandering towards an impressive fountain in the gardens. Jethro spotted a small café and tapped her shoulder to let her know where he'd be. They'd made it a rule not to disappear without first informing the other. Jenny nodded absently and continued towards the fountain.

She found a place less occupied by people than the others and sat down on the edge, looking at the misty water fondly. Her reflection wavered; there was a wind making the water ripple. She lifted her hands and rubbed them together, rubbing them slightly, wishing she'd been smart enough to bring gloves.

Jenny let her gaze linger absently on the fountain water and tried not to think about what Jethro was clearly distracting her from. Cold weather wasn't exactly the best for wandering around in, and she didn't like it, so she'd been cooped up with him and Ducky in the safe house for about two weeks. It had been a little difficult; she'd gotten irritated quickly and Jethro had spent the entire time scrutinizing her like she was about to snap.

Jethro had surprised her by dragging her out of bed early this morning to go to the Louvre, growling that if she didn't leave the house she was going to end up killing him and he liked living enough to prevent that. The slip-up in the alley was still bothering her, she didn't think it would ever stop for so many reasons, but it was starting to stop controlling her.

Admittedly, what bothered her more was the fact that she and Jethro had crossed a line they clearly weren't coming back from and neither one of them would acknowledge it.

A Styrofoam cup nudged her shoulder and she looked up, blinking to shake herself back to reality. She took the cup from Jethro and he sat down next to her, watching her over the rim of his steaming coffee cup. Jenny smiled her thanks and breathed in the scent of her hot chocolate, immensely glad to have something to warm her hands.

She took a tentative sip of the drink, careful not to burn her tongue, and closed her eyes as it warmed her throat. She really was freezing now, and she was attempting both to ignore it and not to shiver.

"Jen," Jethro started casually, and she gave him a suspicious look. Jethro and casual did not bode well for her.

"Yes?" she drawled patronizingly. He gave her a short look and met her questioning eyes.

"I'm going out tonight," he said with a shrug, and she knew exactly what he meant. She took a long sip of her drink and pressed her lips together, narrowing her eyes and cloaking her expression.

"Alone?" she asked neutrally. She knew his answer before he nodded and confirmed it. Jenny held her cup down a little, away from her face and watched him a minute.

"I don't like this," she muttered finally, giving in.

"I know," he said gruffly.

Jenny darkened her look a little. He had told her, verbatim everything Special Agent Leon Vance had said—even the insults—when he'd spoken with him. Leon Vance wanted them working separately, one at a time, from now on, to alleviate suspicion; Jethro didn't want her on the streets at all. Kasey was already keeping a low profile. She had detained Armand Assante's Russian partner for as long as possible in keeping with the decision to frame him for the murder, but he'd inevitably wriggled out of the legal system's grip.

Mysteriously enough, another target who'd been involved in the meet that night had turned up dead, framed for the murder, with incriminating evidence on his person; that put pain to Kasey's case against him.

"Vance wants us to back off the Russian," Jethro said in an undertone, looking to a passerby as if he were drinking his coffee calmly. "He wants us picking off the others like flies to glean information."

"He isn't the Director," Jenny said bitterly, glaring at Jethro. "He can't restrict me to the house."

Jethro didn't respond immediately and Jenny didn't take long to understand why. She paused and tilted her head at him, her eyes hardening. Jethro held her gaze adamantly.

"You're the one restricting me," she said lightly, a dangerous undercurrent in her words. He didn't answer, again, but he didn't need to. She could read it in his defiant expression.

"What did you expect, Jen?" he asked tightly.

She watched him indignantly, slightly hurt, for a split second before answering.

"I'm not going to shoot anyone else," she informed him coldly, in a quiet voice, "if that's what the concern is."

"It isn't about that," Jethro retorted angrily, his muscles tensing. Jenny took a slow drink of her hot chocolate and waited stubbornly for his clarification. "You're cover might be in jeopardy, Jen," he informed her quietly, "It's a matter of safety."

Jenny leaned back a little, letting his excuse sink in. they'd fought about this before, but she'd been so angry at Leon Vance and so annoyed with the weather and everyone walking on eggshells around her that she'd failed to notice _Jethro_ was the one barring her from working the streets at night. He'd told her there would be more work now, more information to be ferreted out, and he'd informed her it would be necessary to be alone at times.

She flinched imperceptibly at the memory of the fight. They'd pushed all the wrong buttons and gone by far the longest without speaking yet. It wasn't long ago, either. She'd barely forgiven him by this morning when he'd taken her out.

Jenny resolved to remain calm, even if she suspected Jethro was telling her this here so she wouldn't make a scene. There were things he would have to understand.

"I know how to lie low," she said coolly. "You can't be the one to take control and shoulder the work because of a safety concern. This job is dangerous; we knew that coming in."

"There's no need to throw you into the path of danger when we know there's a threat," he shot back, glaring at her, "There are other things you can do that won't pose a risk—"

"There won't always be someone around to protect me, Jethro!" she hissed in frustration. Her hand fell to her knee and she gripped it tightly. "That's why I learned to protect myself. You have to trust me to do that. You could get hurt just as easily as I could out alone at night with no back-up," she paused, swallowing, "you think I want to see that happen?"

Jethro's eyes moved in reaction to her words and she found the source of his conviction, even if she'd known all along. It wasn't that he didn't trust her to do her job; in fact they both knew it would be beneficial if they weren't in close contact with each other while they were working. It wasn't smart to put themselves in that position. He didn't trust anyone but himself to keep her safe and it might be slightly endearing but it was more infuriating.

Jenny looked down at the dark liquid in her cup and back up, her expression unreadable, trying to find something to say to express herself. She needed the experience, she needed the credibility, if she was going to get anywhere at NCIS. He couldn't hold her back from that.

"We're partners," she decided on gingerly, "and you can't hold me back."

He glared at her, the way he always did when she didn't cooperate. Why hadn't he accepted yet that she never would, not unless it was her will? They were both like that.

"Don't," she said mildly, when she saw him trying to argue with her, "You said we were equal; you also said we haven't been taking this seriously," she pointed out, throwing two statements of his back in his face. "Practice what you preach then. If you're going out alone, no back-up, then you allow me the same responsibility."

Jethro looked like he was going to start shouting at her like he used to when she did something completely off the wall. His eyes flashed threateningly and he swallowed a mouthful of coffee hard, watching her. Jenny glared back defiantly, refusing to quail.

He understood her reasoning, he knew it was right, but his instincts refused to agree to it. Why couldn't she be like Kasey and just listen when they told her to keep a low profile? Jethro scowled inwardly; Jenny wasn't a thing like Olivia Kasey and he sure as hell wouldn't feel this way about her if she was.

With a resigned, harsh look, Jethro nodded curtly, not trusting himself to say anything remotely nice to her. He took another swig of his coffee to try and appease his irritated nerves and Jenny softened a little, her tense stance relaxing. She moved her hand off of her knee and leaned over, looking away from him and into the water.

She dangled the tips of her fingers in the clear liquid and wriggled them, creating circles of ripples in the water. She bit the inside of her lip and closed her eyes briefly, thankful some worse argument had been avoided. She didn't want him going out alone to scout; that wasn't how this was supposed to work. It seemed reckless, but it was how Leon Vance was working.

Still, she didn't think she could stand it if something went wrong.

Without warning, Jethro flicked his hand towards her and showered her in a sprinkle of ice cold fountain water, smirking at the shocked look on her face when she squealed in surprise and looked up sharply.

Water droplets peppered her face and she shook her head slightly as Jethro laughed.

"It's freezing!" she informed him angrily, attempting to be very displeased with him. She reached down and cupped her hand, flinging water at him with a vengeance, smiling wickedly when he failed dodging the shower and ended up a little wet.

"Karma," she stated primly, smirking.

Jethro transferred his coffee cup to his other hand and leaned forward, yanking her hand towards him so she lost her balance and gasped in terror, almost falling headfirst into the fountain. He steadied her easily and pulled her forward a little, leaning over to press a warm kiss to her mouth.

Jenny tried to hold his shoulder and her hot chocolate in one hand to keep her balance on the fountain ledge, enjoying the kiss. He pulled away a little and brushed his lips against hers.

"Don't be mad," he ordered, lifting his head and pressing a kiss to her forehead.

Jenny smiled and shrugged. She pushed a lock of hair behind her ear and shivered, noticing her hands were starting to redden with the cold. Jethro took in her chilled appearance and glanced around.

"Come one, Jen," he said, standing up. She looked up at him and raised an eyebrow. "You'll warm up if you walk around."

Jenny stood, acknowledging the logic, and curled her shoulders a little.

"I don't know what I'm going to do while you're gone tonight," she lamented in a grumble as they started walking to who knows where.

"You could read that book you're always trying to finish," he suggested, shrugging. He decided it was safe to talk about it, since she didn't seem like she was trapping him into another argument.

Jenny wasn't really the type to trick him into putting his foot in his mouth anyway. She just barged into the room and started shouting if she was displeased with him, she didn't feel the need to find a reason to be angrier, unlike some ex-_wives_.

She looked confused as she raised her hot chocolate to her lips, her brow furrowing as she took a drink and licked her lips, trying to remember what book he was talking about.

"The one under your pillow," Jethro prompted. Jenny's eyes lit up in realization and her nose colored slightly.

It was her favorite book. She kept it under the pillow for when she couldn't sleep or nightmares woke upper up and she didn't want to close her eyes again. She had to have read it a thousand times.

"_Gone with the Wind?"_ she asked, just to be sure.

He nodded.

"I've, er," she paused lamely, "read that twelve times."

Jethro looked down at her and blinked. She sensed he bit back a more mocking response when he answered, rather restrainedly"

"That explains why the spine is destroyed."

Jenny nodded. Jethro shrugged and drank from his coffee cup again, effortlessly avoiding other people as the walked with no purpose around the area.

"I guess you'll just have to run a bath and think of me," he said.

Jenny shoved him to the side with a giggle.

"You would like that," she said, rolling her eyes. Thinking about it for a minute, her eyes lit up and she suddenly felt much better about the prospect of her night.

"Ducky and I can go see a show!" she said brightly. Jethro made a face and she ignored his distaste, finding it the perfect opportunity. The closest to any type of theatre Jethro had gotten while they'd been here was watching _Pretty Woman_ with her while she was sick.

Jenny drank her hot chocolate happily, in a much better mood. She'd even forgotten to be cold for the time being, which was nice. She hated being cold; she could never seem to get warm afterwards.

Jethro started to veer to the left when something suddenly caught Jenny's eye and she reached for his arm, grabbing him lightly and stopping him. She nodded towards the monument and pulled him towards it, maneuvering around a huddle of chattering tourists to the old stone steps of Paris's Pont Neuf Bridge.

Jethro followed her slowly, and she had the sneaking suspicious he was taking his time so he could watch her walk up the stairs. She stole a glance over her shoulder at him and smirked; he was utterly predictable.

Jenny was careful on the pavement as she walked along the side of the bridge, resting her hand on the century-old stone. She came to a stop and leaned against the rail, turning her head to watch Jethro approach her innocently, as if he hadn't hung behind to stare at her butt.

Now she looked over the vast expanse of the Seine beneath the bridge, and the architecture of Paris lining the banks. It had to be sometime past noon now, and she was starting to get hungry, but she could chalk this morning up to one of the best she'd had yet.

Jethro leaned against the rail next to her and followed her gaze slowly, leaning over to nudge her shoulder playfully after a few minutes.

"Remember that night in the Seine?"

Jenny smirked as the snapshots flashed before her eyes. The water had been colder than ice at first, but after the amount of time they'd spent messing around in it she hadn't even noticed anymore.

"That was the night I," Jenny paused suddenly, and bit down on her tongue. "I won't forget," she finished in a marginally softer voice, stopping herself from saying something else. She didn't even know what she'd been about to say, she just knew it would have been a disaster.

_The night I decided you weren't a fling? The night I fell in love with you?_

She took a quick gulp of her hot chocolate to blow off her slip and stared calmly straight ahead, watching sunlight dance on the water. Jethro was watching her closely, annoying closely, with interest.

He leaned over wordlessly and pushed her hair off her neck, pressing his lips to the place behind her ear softly. His breath was warm and tickled her neck, taking her mind off the frigid air yet again. He stroked her shoulder through her jacket and nuzzled her neck.

"Jen," he mumbled, almost hesitantly, in a low voice. Jenny closed her eyes. She bit her lip and drowned out the murmuring and occasional shouting of the other people, feeling him move his lips against her neck. She could hear him thinking, she felt the words on his lips, but she…she was the one who said them.

"I love you, Jethro."

She immediately felt like she couldn't breathe. She felt dizzy. She didn't throw those words around lightly, and she couldn't understand why she'd said it now. Here. To him. So willingly and so surely, though that surety was gone now.

Jethro hardly missed a beat, or if he did, she didn't notice. He laughed and shifted his head, his lips brushing her cool skin seductively.

"That'll be the day," he teased, even if it was ultimately a much less mocking tease than ever.

Letting out a shaky breath, Jenny laughed weakly her eyes flying open. It was such an unorthodox, unexpected reaction—completely Jethro, though, and she responded to it in a way that bewildered her. His words had a hint of insecurity, and if initially they might have been a slap to the face, they didn't cut as deep as she'd expected.

She tried to catch her breath, steady her spinning head. She felt the cold even more acutely. He could have done so many things, but he hadn't even drawn away from her. Her stomach flipped uncomfortably and she rubbed her palm lightly on the stone rail, trying to grasp her emotions.

She understood she hadn't expected him to say it back subconsciously. She realized she didn't need him to, not quite. She felt like she knew. She wasn't insecure enough about herself and her relationship with him to think he didn't care. And she didn't want him throwing the words around like they meant nothing just to avoid an argument or tears—not that he needed to worry about her crying.

Jenny set her cup down on the rail and turned to him, taking his face in her cold hands and pulling him close, unconcerned with the people who would watch the display. She kissed him, exploring the familiar confines of his mouth, tasting him, until her chest hurt with the need for oxygen.

Jethro held her in place with an arm around her waist loosely. He felt her shiver against the cold and looked up into her fathomless green eyes. She looked back with only a hint of uncertainty, as if she was afraid of what his next words would be, or his next action.

"You want to get on the move again?" he asked hoarsely, quietly, running his hand up her back to warm her.

Jenny shook her head imperceptibly with a small sparkle in her eyes.

"I know a different way to get warm," she hinted demurely.

Jethro smiled at her softly. He tightened his grip on her waist protectively and nodded, only able to hope his eyes weren't betraying what a complete mess he was behind them.

* * *

'_I'll be back by midnight'_.

He had clearly underestimated. She could kill him.

Jenny rubbed her forehead in frustration and snapped her book closed for the fifth time yet, laying it down on the covers and getting off of the bed. She slipped her robe on over her nightie again and padded out the door. The lights were still on in the house; she and Ducky were both still up even if she'd now said she was going to bed three times.

She gripped the banister tighter than necessary as she descended the stairs, curling her toes into the thick carpet anxiously. She passed Ducky's bathroom door and pulled the curtain away from the vertical, thin windows next to the front door, glancing up the dimly lit street. Shutting them again, she paused and leaned her forehead against the wall, listening to the faint, murmuring sound of the French film she'd left the television on.

"Jenny," Ducky called quietly.

Jenny flinched at being caught, again, and turned towards him, her head still pressed against the way. He stood, lingering in the hall, his cup of nightly tea in his hands. She smiled soothingly at him and he returned the favor, but he jerked his head back towards the kitchen and turned, waiting until she reluctantly started to trudge after him to turn his back to her.

Ever the gentleman, Ducky pulled out a chair for her and she thanked him in a mumble. He set his cup of tea down on the table next to the newspaper from this morning and shuffled over to the teapot, beginning to brew another cup.

"What has got you so worried, my dear?" he asked calmly.

Jenny resisted the urge to pick up his tea cup and throw it across the room. He couldn't really be that dense, and since that was impossible, she could only assume he was trying to make her talk to him so he could shrink her head.

The thoughts made her wince. She was getting to be too much like Jethro.

"He's almost two hours late," she answered hoarsely. She stretched her arms out on the table and looked at them moodily, her shoulders slumping just a little. Jethro had left at eight for his foray into the city alone, and told her he'd return by midnight. He was not back by midnight, nor was he back now, and Jenny didn't think—in this situation—it was irrational to slightly freak out.

"Paris is a big city," Ducky said neutrally, "and we're not entirely sure where he was."

Jenny glared at the tabletop instead of glaring at Ducky. It wouldn't be fair to take out her distress on him for attempting to soothe her.

"Jethro said he'd be back by midnight, Ducky," she said quietly instead, "He wouldn't have said it if he didn't mean it."

Ducky didn't answer right away, and she knew it was because he knew she was right. Jethro was a stickler for deadlines and promptness. 'Back by midnight' meant 'back by midnight' in Jethro-speak, not 'back by twelve-oh-one' or 'eventually'.

Ducky's soft footsteps approached and he handed Jenny a friendly cup of tea, which she took gratefully with a small smile. Ducky settled back down in his chair and touched her hand gently.

"I'm sure he's fine, Jenny," he offered nicely.

"But you don't know," Jenny pointed out in a hard voice, "and I don't know," she added in a softer tone. She lifted the tea and inhaled the scent slowly, fluttering her eyes, and blew lightly on it so it would cool.

"He could be hurt," she said softly, taking a sip, staring past Ducky into the glass patio doors. "What if something happened, Ducky?"

"By this time, we would know," Ducky said formally, giving her a placating look, "Jenny, you mustn't think like this."

Jenny flicked her eyes to his face and then down to the table, taking another mechanical drink. He was right; Leon Vance or possibly even Decker would have called to let them know if something had gone wrong; by this time someone would surely know. She hated not knowing, though. She couldn't shake the helpless, worried feeling, and she found herself wondering if he'd felt this way when she'd gone off the grid that time.

She could understand his anger now.

"He'll be all right, Jenny," Ducky said, "He's Jethro."

Jenny didn't answer. She took another long sip of her tea and rubbed her ankles together under the table, goose bumps springing up on her legs. Ducky had to be slightly concerned; she couldn't understand how he could sit there as it neared two a.m. and simply say that Jethro was fine.

She kept having to crush thoughts of injury from her mind. He shouldn't be out without back-up, and she cursed herself for ever slipping up enough to make this necessary. Setting her tea cup down, Jenny raised her hands to her face and pushed her hair back, pressing her lips together tightly.

"You could try to sleep, Jenny," Ducky ventured helpfully, "Stop stressing."

"I can't sleep," she snapped at him, and regretted it immediately. "I'm sorry, Ducky, I just," she paused and ran her fingers over her mouth thoughtfully.

"It's all right, my dear," Ducky said softly, touching her hand again. She curled her fingers around his gratefully.

"I'm going to kick his ass," Jenny stated, and Ducky laughed.

"You care for him," Ducky said mildly, leaning back and looking at her. She nodded absently, her finger tracing a small circle on the kitchen table. She was alert for sounds indicating Jethro's return, and immersed in thoughts of the day's events and possible reasons why he could be so late. She wasn't listening to Ducky with all of her attention.

"You love him," Ducky said quietly, clearly a confident statement.

Her hand stopped its movements and she looked up at him sharply, her expression guarded and masked. She didn't say a word, didn't move in anyway, but just looked at him. Ducky looked back curiously, kindly, and with comforting eyes.

"Jenny," Ducky started sweetly, "Please tread carefully. I," he paused and seemed to push himself to go forward, because he knew full well this wasn't his place and he had seen the flicker of warning in her eyes that paralleled Jethro's. "I simply don't want to him hurt you."

Jenny looked away, resuming her tracing.

"He won't," she said simply, shrugging a shoulder minutely. She understood Jethro. He wouldn't hurt her; she firmly believed that. He wasn't ignorant and he didn't want to. "What you're thinking, Ducky," she said shortly, without looking back at him, "It won't end like that."

Her words were slightly softer. She swallowed hard and Ducky nodded absently, mulling over her response. The woman was so confident in Jethro's feelings for her, in her feelings for Jethro, that Ducky concluded they must have some understanding with each other.

Yet she hadn't said it was going to last forever. And she looked conflicted, unsure, and sad for a moment. It planted worry in the back of his mind, for her and for Jethro. Jenny glanced at him briefly with a blank look and stood up; leaving the tea Ducky had made her on the table.

"I'll be in the study," she said quietly, folding her arms across her chest, "I suppose if he's dead it will be on the news," she said drily, and Ducky did not think it was at all funny.

Jenny picked up the remote and curled into herself against the couch's armrest, flicking through channels methodically. There was nothing of interest to her on TV, she couldn't focus on her book, and she sure as hell couldn't sleep. She had nothing to do but dwell.

Ducky had spent the day with a friend, leaving the safe house empty for Jenny and Jethro when they'd returned from the Louvre and Pont Neuf. Locked in from the biting cold they'd experienced in the Tuileries and on the bridge, she had pushed Jethro to his limit among the sheets and pillows, not to mention hers. She might have forgotten where she was if it wasn't for Ducky's arrival with dinner around six.

Jethro hadn't breathed a word about their exchange on the bridge, and she couldn't decide if it was a relief or if it scared her. She didn't want to talk about it; she hadn't planned on saying it. It didn't matter that she'd known she loved him for weeks. Saying it was a completely different thing. His behavior towards her hadn't changed either, except perhaps there was something more careful about his touch. Almost as if he was afraid she would break.

Jenny rubbed her eyes again, feeling overwhelmed. She turned the volume up a few notches just to try and shut her head up. She couldn't for the life of her come to terms with his completely unorthodox response to her confession. '_That'll be the day'_? It bothered her; it intrigued her. She didn't know what it said about his thoughts of her, but she was slightly upset by it.

It was almost like he believed she was too independent and too strong of a woman to love. That or he didn't think she could love him, and that thought just pissed her off. Jethro could hardly be that insecure, with all his egotistical complexes and his completely arrogant ways. They fought endlessly. They went head to head far too often to be normal, and maybe to a silent observer it would look as if she could never love him. But he shouldn't feel that way, he shouldn't think that. And if he did…she was hurt by it.

Jenny gritted her teeth. Why couldn't she just have kept her damn mouth shut?

She thought she heard Ducky shifting in the kitchen, and started to begin flicking through channels again when she realized what she'd heard was the slam of a car door. She pressed the mute button viciously and perked up her ears like a hound, listening. Slowly, she got up and crept over to the study doorway, peeking out into the hall covertly. Jethro opened the front door and flung his coat carelessly over the stair banister, turning to shut the door behind him.

Jenny's heart jumped in her chest and she glared at her unsuspecting lover, but instead of storming over and screaming at him like half of her felt like doing, she listened to the irrational side and ran down the hall.

Jethro had barely turned from shutting the door when Jenny crashed into him, causing him to stumble back in surprise against the door and catch her around her waist with one hand so she wouldn't fall. At first, caught off guard as he was by her behavior, he was pleased with the hug.

But then she hit him in the shoulder. Hard.

"Jen!" he protested loudly.

"Where were you?" Jenny demanded in a muffled yell, still plastering herself against him.

Jethro cursed inwardly. He had hoped she'd be asleep when he returned and thus not notice he'd come in way after midnight, but he should have known that was a foolish hope. Jenny seemed to notice he hadn't answered her after a moment and pulled back, glaring at him darkly.

"Took longer than I thought," he answered with a shrug. There was no need to get into particulars. He wasn't about to tell her he'd spent more time than necessary hunting down and watching the guy Vance had told him had it in for Jenny.

Jenny narrowed her eyes but didn't say anything. She tightened her arms around his waist and leaned into him, resting her head beneath his chin. Bewildered slightly, and half-amused, Jethro ran his hand down the back of her hand and over her back.

"Jen, I'm fine," he said shortly, "The location changed. It was farther away."

Jenny stiffened slightly. She didn't know what to say to him to express the annoyance and relief she was feeling. He expected her to calm down instantly, yet she was willing to bet her life he would throw a fit if she came home this late after a set time.

"You didn't take your phone," she stated sharply.

"Didn't need it going off at an inconvenient time," Jethro responded with a shrug. He stroked through her hair again and she shook him off, pulling back with a look of genuine disbelief on her face.

"Jethro, don't you know how to put it on silent?" she asked. He just looked at her blankly and she narrowed her eyes. "You could have been hurt," she snapped.

He rolled his eyes to show his disdain for the very idea. Jenny pulled back further and pinched his sides hard, forcing him to take her seriously.

"Jethro," she snapped in a low voice. "You would kick my ass if I left my phone here," she said pointedly, and it wasn't as if he could deny it. "Don't leave without a way to communicate."

Jethro gave her a patronizing, annoyed look and removed her hands from his waist, less than thrilled at being treated like an unruly child. It was the realization that he would, in fact, murder her if she'd done the same and the fact that he had made a bad decision in being so flippant that irritated him; he wasn't supposed to make mistakes.

Jenny narrowed her eyes at him and slapped his hands away, folding her arms. She lifted an eyebrow as Jethro's eyes drifted down over the loosened front of her short robe and the length of her legs.

"Jethro!" Ducky called happily, coming out of the kitchen. Jenny didn't know why he hadn't appeared earlier; with all the noise she'd made flying down the hall into Jethro's chest.

Jethro tore his gaze away to greet the doctor. He nodded.

"We were getting a bit worried," Ducky informed him, wagging a finger in his direction. He slipped behind Jenny towards his bedroom and stopped at the door. "You really should tell Jennifer about your failure to appear on time to your last wedding," he informed his friend with a twinkle in his eyes, "then she mightn't think you're so perfectly punctual. She was quite upset—"

Jenny resisted the urge to slap her hands over her ears and turned on her heel. She dragged her fingers on the banister as she went back upstairs, unwilling to hear Ducky recount her worry and panic to the one person she hated to let see her weak. She hoped they both trembled when she slammed the bedroom door shut for effect.

She relaxed and slipped her robe off of her shoulders inside the room, waiting for Jethro to fling the door back open and saunter in. It was only a matter of seconds. The man liked dramatic entrances; he made sure the door banged against the wall when he threw it open. He probably wanted Ducky to think he wasn't going to take any of Jenny's female crap or something macho like that.

Jethro shut the door softly and watcher her drop the robe casually to the floor and raise her eyebrows at him neutrally. Slowly, he walked across the room and stretched out on the bed, staring at Jenny until she rolled her eyes and smirked a little, crawling over his outstretched legs to straddle him.

He lifted his hands to her cheeks and pushed his hands back into her hair, holding her face in his palms.

"Were you really that upset, Jenny?" he asked quietly.

"Were you really late to Diane's and your wedding?" she retorted sharply, arching an eyebrow.

He scowled slightly and accepted the reply as fair.

Jenny tilted her head at him and ran her hands lightly up his chest, applying small pressure in front of his shoulders, bunching the material in her hands. He watched her pull it over his head easily and pulled her closer by the hair, touching his nose to hers before he kissed her.

Her worry melted away as she melted into him. Damn him for being such a good kisser.

"Jethro," she murmured, his hands dropping down her front to her abdomen where he gripped her hips gently.

"Didn't mean to worry you, Jen," he mumbled.

"I wasn't worried," she protested in a mutter, drawing a short laugh from him.

Jethro grinned and kissed her again, lifting his knee until he had enough room to wind his leg around hers and flip her over on her back, slipping his arms around her tightly. He bent to kiss her again and she tilted her lips up, threading her fingers into his silvery hair caressingly. His lips travelled over her neck and collarbone, to the dip at the base of her throat and the flushed, sensitive skin below.

This was why she didn't need him to tell her anything, why his 'that'll be the day' didn't burn like rejection.

He said it all in the way he touched her, and in the way he said her name against her throat.

* * *

_I apologize for dropping off the planet for like a week. School/work has effectively swamped me. :/_


	20. Pretty Red Bird

_A/N: Thanks to Aly!_

**

* * *

**

Jenny Shepard woke up slowly, consciousness creeping in lazily. She could tell it was morning even with her eyes closed; the room was lighter than it was in the dark of night. She tried to comprehend what had woken her up, and eventually realized Jethro was blowing softly in her ear.

"Good morning, Jethro," she murmured into her pillow.

Jenny opened one eye and smiled slightly. Jethro pushed stray strands of hair out of her face and leaned in to kiss her. Jenny relaxed into the pillows and let him lean over her, flattening her palm against his warm shoulder. He curled his leg around one of hers.

"Jethro, your feet are freezing," she informed, trying to wriggle her leg away.

"You stole the blankets," he mumbled back, shrugging.

Jenny whined and tried to pull her leg away again. Jethro clamped his leg down on hers and refused to let her go. Jenny opened her eyes, pulled her mouth away slightly, and glared at him.

"You'll suffer the consequences," Jethro said sternly. He ran his hand lightly over Jenny's back and pulled her closer, grinning as she curled herself into his body heat and shifted her head to share his pillow.

"Not that I don't appreciate being woken up like this," Jenny said softly, lifting an eyebrow, "but did you have to wake me up?"

Jethro nodded pointedly. Rolling her eyes, Jenny propped herself up a little on her elbow and traced circles on his chest with her finger. She'd actually slept well last night, for the first time in a few weeks. Jethro caught her hand and pulled her down over him, running his hand up her back again to tangle in her hair.

She vaguely heard Ducky shouting something from downstairs.

"What's he yelling about?" she murmured unconcernedly, brushing her lips against Jethro's teasingly. She felt him shrug carelessly and he tilted her head to an easier-to-reach position, meeting her eyes as he kissed her.

At that moment, almost too quickly for her to realize what had happened, the door flew open.

Gasping in surprise, Jenny's first thought was to make sure she was covered up, but Jethro had already yanked the sheets over her back. With wide eyes, she turned her head to look, hunching her shoulders and slipping down a little as Jethro leaned up.

"DUCKY!" he shouted, the first time Jenny had actually seen him express shock with anger.

Ducky hardly missed a beat, ignoring Jethro's outburst and Jenny's attempting to crawl under the sheets.

"I'm sorry, Jethro, I shouted for both of you at least three times," he said in a rushed voice, managing to look completely nonplussed.

"What do you want?" Jethro snapped. He still held the covers up around her, and she took them gently and hunkered down next to him, hiding her face in his shoulder.

"Agent Decker is here," Ducky answered, almost before Jethro had finished, "I think you'd better come down."

"Decker?" Jenny mumbled in confusion, peeking out with a furrowed brow. Ducky nodded shortly, and for the first time Jenny noticed he looked stressed and worried. She glanced at Jethro, whose muscles were jumping in his jaw. He narrowed his eyes wordlessly and gritted his teeth, no doubt as uneasy about the announcement as her.

"Get out," he ordered roughly, pointing at the door.

"Jethro, he's beside himself—"

"Yeah, Duck, she needs to get dressed," Jethro interrupted in a growl, glaring at his old friend.

Finally, Ducky seemed to realize his position. He paused, flushed slightly, and started to pull the door shut.

"Right. Of course," he said, clearly flustered. He shut the door as softly as his agitation would let him and Jenny breathed out in relief, unaware she'd been holding her breath at all. Jethro kicked the sheets off violently and sat up, wasting no time.

Jenny straightened up more slowly, her heart still pounding a little faster than necessary, and crawled to the foot of the bed wrapped in the sheet, leaning down to snatch up a wrinkled pair of sweats and the nearest lingerie item.

"Why would Decker be here?" she asked, fastening the strap on her bra effortlessly and disentangling from the sheets to pull on her panties and sweats.

"He shouldn't be," Jethro growled back, fastening a button on his jeans and bending over to fish something out from under the bed. Jenny paused and looked over the bed at the top of his head as he searched, biting the inside of her lip.

"Decker has a panic problem," Jethro said distastefully, "Everything's fine, Jenny," he added sharply, as if he could read her mind. She glared at his unsuspecting arm as he rested it on the bed to push himself up.

"Where's my shirt?" Jenny murmured distractedly, pulling the sheets up to look, ignoring his half-soothing statement. Nothing could be 'fine' if Decker was breaking strict rules and associating with them at their safe house.

"Here," Jethro tossed her his Marine Corp t-shirt and disappeared to find himself another one while Jenny slipped it on without a second thought. She combed her fingers through her hair haphazardly, trying to make herself look presentable, as he practically stormed across the room tugging a white t-shirt on and started to yank the door back open.

Jenny grabbed him by the back of his shirt and stopped him before he could stalk out.

"Hey," she said shortly, turning him around. "Cool it," she warned, not wanting him to go charging downstairs and start in on Decker before he knew what was going on. Jethro gave her a tight-lipped glare and shook his arm.

Jenny ducked under his arm gracefully and turned around in the doorway, running her hand along his jaw lightly with a small smirk to lighten his mood slightly.

"You're just upset because you're not getting laid," she whispered, turning around.

"Which is Decker's fault," she heard him snap in an undertone as he followed her out the door, flipping the bedroom light off on the way.

It was smart of him to lag behind her on the way down, so it seemed at least a little like they were coming from separate directions—especially since it became apparent Decker was pacing the hall next to the stairs when Jenny peeked over the railing. He gave her a relieved, crazed look when he saw her and came around to the base of the stairs, almost running into her as she tried to reach the ground floor.

"Jenny," he said, looking her in the eye, "please tell me Olivia's here."

Jenny opened her mouth in surprise, her eyebrows knitting together. She started to shake her head slowly and stopped, tilting it instead. Jethro brushed past her and took a place at an angle between her and Decker.

"Why would she be?" Jenny asked hesitantly.

Decker put a hand up to his wrinkled forehead and rubbed, squeezing his eyes shut momentarily before he seemed to slump and re-opened them. His eyes looked bloodshot from lack of sleep and he was a little pale. Ducky was right; Decker was clearly in quite a state.

"What's wrong, Will?" she asked.

"I can't find her," he muttered, "Olivia. She's disappeared. I don't know where she is, she's gone," he said in a rush, sounding frustrated and furious.

Jenny's stomach flipped and she sucked in her breath, looking up at Jethro for his reaction. He hardly batted an eyelid, didn't even meet her eyes; he took Decker by the shoulder and turned him firmly towards the kitchen. Jenny swallowed hard and followed him, meeting Ducky's worried eyes as he moved out of Jethro's way from the kitchen doorway into the hall.

She stopped outside the doorway as Jethro practically threw Decker into a chair and Ducky touched her shoulder gently. She looked at him with concern, and Ducky returned the look before turning towards the kitchen, both of them standing in the doorway.

"Lock the front door," Jenny murmured, her eyes focused on Jethro and Decker. Ducky disappeared next to her and went to do her bidding.

"What do you mean she's gone, Deck?" Gibbs asked coolly. "She get pissed at you and take a walk?"

Jenny rolled her eyes in annoyance at the comment. Trust Jethro to assume it was something like that. Decker shook his head vigorously.

"No, dammit, she's _gone_," he repeated, glaring at Jethro rather impressively, "We were getting along fine. She got a call and said she had to go down to the precinct, even though she was off duty, said she might stop off and shop on the way back," Decker paused and swallowed, reigning in his hysteria a little to steady his words, "She didn't come back by dark so I called. No answer. I haven't seen her, I can't get her on the cell," he trailed off, rubbing his head again and gritting his teeth.

Jethro straightened up and folded his arms, his facial features wiped completely blank. Jenny recognized the expression and felt sick; it was the expression he got when he didn't want to acknowledge how bad a situation could get.

"When was this?" he asked as calmly as possible. Jenny watched him with tight lips and careful eyes, aware he was ignoring her stare and refusing to look at her.

"She went out," Decker stopped and seemed to count back, "Yesterday, early morning. Before seven. She hasn't been back."

Ducky's shoulder brushed Jenny's as he re-situated himself beside her, crossing his own arms. Jenny flexed her fingers at her side, holding onto the doorframe with her other hand. She leaned the side of her head against it and flicked her eyes from Jethro to Decker.

"You don't think she's seeing someone?" Jethro asked shortly, his meaning clear. Decker just shook his head in annoyance, and Jenny shook hers slightly as well.

"She wouldn't go off without telling me; she knows better," Decker answered.

Jethro's eyes rose to Jenny's and he studied her face, as if asking for her opinion. Jenny shook her head slightly, and he looked at her as if to remind her that she herself had run off without telling him before, he just hadn't reacted like an overprotective parent.

"She wouldn't," Jenny said softly, answering his unasked question and accusation. "Kasey's by the book," she added truthfully.

Decker looked up and between them, his brow furrowed again. They sat silently for a few moments that felt like a lifetime, Decker watching Jenny watch Jethro, and then Jethro jerked his eyes away from her and looked at Decker.

"Call her," he ordered.

Decker pulled out his phone and dialed obediently, waiting. Jenny felt tension in the room building; she wished Olivia would pick up her phone and explain herself, even if it was to say she'd run off to a motel with some sleazy French guy. Jethro might kill her himself, but at least it would ease Jenny's horrible feeling.

A feeling of dread settled over her as Decker pulled the phone away and gave Jethro a quiet look.

"Disconnected," he said hoarsely. "It used to just ring off the hook."

Jenny stepped into the kitchen and went immediately over the cabinet, digging out Ducky's preferred Scotch from the back. She wordlessly poured Decker a glass and handed it to him, her pulse refusing to calm down. She felt like screaming. Kasey was one to pitch a fit if someone held their gun a smidgeon off of rulebook regulations, if she was gone it did not bode well. She wouldn't just run off.

"I thought something might have gone wrong with her cover at the precinct, and maybe she'd come here," he mumbled, looking at the glass of scotch longingly. Jenny pushed it towards him insistently. He needed to calm down.

"Is there any reason something might have gone wrong?" Jethro asked shortly. Jenny shot him a look. She wished he'd be a little more gently in his handling of Decker, the man was obviously distraught.

Decker looked at him in disbelief.

"She's been looking over her shoulder since Vance had her bring in the Russian after Shepard shot Assante!" he burst out.

Jenny flinched just slightly. She swallowed to keep her composure but her thoughts started churning dangerously. She didn't want to start thinking Kasey had been kidnapped or something, but everything that had happened lately could have made it a possibility.

"You think he has something to do with this?" she asked quietly, her voice steady. Decker turned to her.

"_They_ do," he said fiercely, "Him! Someone! Something is wrong," Decker stressed pointedly, looking at her pleadingly. "These guys were watching Livy anyway because her job was to draw their attention. Vance wanted the Russian off the streets but I'll be damned if he didn't just fuel that man's vengeance." Decker paused, his eyes flashing, "Olivia would have been better off if she'd let him be," he growled.

Jethro turned away, rubbing his own forehead, his eyes hard and unreadable. Jenny glanced back at Ducky and then took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves. Jethro turned back after a silent moment and spoke more forcefully.

"Have you contacted Vance?" he asked coldly.

"First thing I did," Decker muttered, a little offended, "he said it wasn't a cause for worry."

"He said what?" snarled Jethro, and Jenny's eyes narrowed in anger at the thought. Why wouldn't the disappearance of an undercover operative be a cause for worry in Vance's book? For a man she'd never met, Leon Vance sure did a great job of pissing her off.

Decker just looked at Jethro stonily. Jethro set his jaw angrily and gestured to Decker's phone.

"Get him on the line," he ordered. Decker was the only one who had a contact number for Vance.

"I haven't been able to get him since that time,"

"Try again," Jethro growled.

Decker obeyed. Jenny could hear the phone ringing as they waited for Vance to pick up, and the sound chilled her blood. She tried to find Jethro's eyes but he still wouldn't look at her for longer than five seconds. She wished she could go lay her head on his shoulder, but that wasn't a feasible option at the moment. She settled for biting her lip and resting her eyes on his chest instead.

A deep, male voice sounded on the other end of Decker's cell and his eyes widened.

"Vance," he barked, and Jenny relaxed a little.

Decker paused as Vance said something, and then rushed on furiously.

"She's still not come back," he growled into the mouthpiece. There was another pause, as Decker gritted his teeth yet again and curled his hand around his untouched glass of scotch, his knuckles whitening.

"Damn straight it's a problem!" Decker yelled.

Jethro looked like he was about to rip the phone away and give Vance a piece of his mind when Decker suddenly hung up.

"He cut the call," he snarled, slamming the phone shut, "Said to look for her, and he'll see what he can find out."

"Son of a bitch," Jenny hissed, resisting the immature urge to stamp her foot. Decker looked like he shared her sentiments exactly. The blood rushing in her ears, Jenny blinked angrily and drew Jethro's attention to her.

"We don't need to involve him," she snapped. "If he goes asking questions, he could raise suspicion."

"He's the only one who can get access to inside information," Jethro answered.

"He might blow his precious cover," Jenny snarled sardonically. She didn't even know him and her skin crawled when she thought of the attitude of Leon Vance. "Olivia is missing and he's saying it's not cause for worry. Jethro, I don't trust him,"

"You've never met the man, Jenny," Jethro said dangerously.

"I don't think he gives a _damn_ about the welfare of _any_ of us!" she yelled, more out of fear than anger. The men they were dealing with were decidedly not benign; they were powerful, cruel, and immoral, and she didn't want to think about what could happen to Kasey if she was in their hands.

"Jethro, Jennifer," Ducky said softly, mediating as usual. Jethro gave him a cold look, Jenny just ignored him.

"Let him 'see what he can find out'," she mocked, "We can't wait around for that. She could be…hurt," Jenny finished, sparing a glance for Decker. She didn't want to voice her real fears.

Jethro nodded shortly, without even a question to her statement. He knew the importance of not waiting around for Vance to get back to them with any glimmer of a hint he could get about Kasey, if she was indeed in the clutches of Assante's crew.

"Ducky," Jethro said calmly, "How would you like to take a scenic drive around Paris?"

Ducky nodded wisely.

"It would be relaxing, I suppose," he said.

Jethro nodded.

"You aren't gonna see her," he informed him matter-of-factly, "but we need you out there."

Ducky turned on his heel without another word and disappeared, probably for some more appropriate clothing to wear. Jenny turned her eyes to Jethro, waiting for his instructions. He looked at her and Decker in turn.

"Go back to your files, or Kasey's, doesn't matter. Scope out the places she watched these guys. Jen and I can do the same for the seedier places. We'll cover what we can without drawing attention," he paused and lifted his shoulders coldly in a shrug, "that's all we can do. If we can't get anything, from Vance or otherwise," Jethro paused and Jenny was afraid of what he was going to say.

Decker raised his head and looked at Jethro hard, daring him to say something negative.

"We have to call it in to Morrow," Jethro finished smoothly, as if that had been all he was ever going to say. But Jenny knew him better than that; he knew something was wrong. She could see it in his eyes.

"Go, Will," he said shortly, giving the other man a good look, "Meet back here by eighteen hundred."

Decker swallowed hard and stood up, knocking back the entire glass of neglected scotch in one go. He handed the glass to Jenny with a weak smile of thanks and she squeezed his arm sympathetically, unwilling to imagine what he was going through not knowing where his partner was, or if she was all right. If it were Jethro…

But it wasn't. She stopped thinking about that, and set the glass down on the table, watching Decker slip his phone into his pocket and start to leave.

"She could be hurt," Decker said hoarsely, looking at them both. Jenny heard the real meaning in his words and swallowed hard. He meant 'she could be dead'.

"Go find her," Jethro said sharply, his expression that unreadable mask again. Decker stared at him, nodded once quickly, and started out the door, unlocking it and slipping out with a backward nod.

Jenny stood quietly in place, not knowing what to say, uneasy with the turn of events and trying to ignore the sneaking, hateful feeling that this was all her fault at the core. Jethro strode over to her and put his hand on her shoulder tightly, brushing his lips against her forehead.

"Get your gun," he said solemnly in a quiet voice. "This is not your fault, Jenny," he said, saving her from having to voice the words. She didn't answer.

"This is bad, Jethro," she said finally, her voice low.

"Yeah, Jen," he said softly.

"If she's hurt—"

"It is not your fault," he repeated harshly. "We don't even know the story, Jen, she could be off escaping from Deck for all we know."

"Dammit, Jethro, you don't believe that," Jenny snapped. She looked up at him, at his guarded eyes and blank face, and shook her head angrily.

"What's your famous gut saying?" she asked.

Jethro looked at her carefully, gauging her mood, and she swore to herself in that moment she'd kick him if he said something stupid and comforting. He looked at her for too long, almost, and her spirits sank.

"Nothing good," he answered finally.

Jenny pressed her lips together and nodded, trying to steel herself for the possibilities. Jethro squeezed her shoulder just slightly tighter and brushed past her without a word.

* * *

Jenny shoved a loose lock of hair out of her face in irritation, willing it to stay behind her ear and relieve her of a little stress. She was cold and uneasy, and she was finding it difficult to keep her hand from lingering at her waist where her SIG was concealed. She didn't want to give up yet, but daylight was slipping away quicker than usual and Jethro had ordered them all back by six.

She held up her phone again, breathing out in annoyance and trying to drag up a few bars of service. She was in the same area of town she'd been during the car stakeout though on an opposite side of the street. She'd spent the day coming up with thousands of crafty different ways of scoping out places, listening in, trying to find anything that hinted of Olivia Kasey. It had been easy when she'd been with Jethro; they just pretended to be a couple completely wrapped up in each other, but alone it was increasingly difficult not to look suspicious.

She and Jethro had split up almost three hours ago. They'd been getting nowhere and decided they might cover more ground apart, even though he'd at first fiercely denied her request to go off alone. She'd made it clear she was going with or without his 'permission' and he'd accepted it angrily, demanding she be back to the safe-house on time. It was six now, and where she was she was going to be late, but she couldn't bring herself to stop.

She couldn't stand the thought of Kasey getting hurt.

Jenny had spoken briefly to Decker, who was fuming after having talked with Vance again. Vance knew nothing, could find nothing, and didn't seem to be overly concerned one way or the other. Jenny had almost smashed her phone into a concrete wall after hearing Decker's desperate voice explain how useless Vance was being. She wanted to meet him, face-to-face, just so she could introduce him to a damn good right hook.

Looking at her phone again, Jenny groaned and snapped it shut, cursing the sketchy service. She would at least call Jethro and tell him she was running late, even if she was technically just refusing to give up. She glanced behind her casually and turned down a side street where a bunch of shops were, perusing the outdoor things carelessly. Her head was killing her, and her feet were as well. Kitten heels hadn't been a good idea in retrospect, but she was supposed to look like a tourist, and a woman in kittenish heels was hardly a cause for concern in most parts of the world.

A teenage boy stumbled into her, laughing, and she gave him a scary look, drawing mumbled apology out of him before he ran off to join the group he'd been rough housing with. This wasn't a nice part of town. Jethro probably would have already kicked the kid's ass, but Jenny was content to place a silent curse on him.

Finding an empty wall outside of a shop, Jenny paused to lean against it, taking in her surroundings. She was south of where she'd shot Assante now, and it was getting darker still. Paper lamps, strings of lights, and broken street lamps lit this street and she took it in distastefully, much preferring the nice parts of Paris to this. A flurry of French reached her ears but nothing was suspicious. She hadn't caught a glimpse of any of their targets in any of their usual haunts, and she was looking damn closely.

She tilted her head up with a silent groan and wrinkled her forehead, breathing deeply to control her emotions. She was terrified. Not of being out alone, but of what they were going to find when they got to the bottom of Kasey's disappearance. She was angry at Vance and at herself and she could not for the life of her get rid of the guilt that was pressing down on her shoulders.

She wanted Jethro. She wished she'd just stuck with him and let him be annoyingly protective and mean to her. Jenny rolled her neck from side to side, wincing at the stiffness, and folded her arms, clutching her phone in her fingers. It was freezing tonight; yet another reason she was regretting leaving Jethro. He was so warm…

Pushing off from the wall, Jenny pushed away the thoughts and started down the street again, reaching the end thankfully and turning onto a much darker one riddled with a few bars and broken up places. Not as many people scampered around her, and she liked the quiet better.

She checked her phone again. Zero bars here. Frowning, Jenny paused and turned slightly, immediately retracting her decision to go this way. Sketchy service was one thing, no service was another and she did not have back up. Her skin crawled uneasily and she checked behind her, just to be cautious. She decided she'd check the Chinese restaurant they'd watched once and head back to bear the brunt of Jethro's anger at her tardiness.

A noise behind her made her pause yet again and she turned, narrowing her eyes. Her muscles tensed up and she chewed the inside of her lip, her blood running cold. She felt like she did the night she was in the alley. Dread started to creep into every nerve in her body and she flicked open her phone—

"Mademoiselle," someone said softly from her left, and touched her hand lightly.

Jenny whipped her head around and started to jerk her hand away, but the man's grip tightened. She looked up silently; her voice caught in her throat, and found dark, expressionless eyes looking at her. He had his hand closed over her phone.

Instantly, she jammed her finger down on speed-dial one, regardless of if the service was working or not. She pulled her arm towards her forcefully and struck out with her foot, causing the man to stumble back with a noise of surprise.

She didn't even see the other come out of the shadows behind her. Jenny went for her gun and had it risen towards the visible attacker when someone grasped her wrist and wrenched it violently to the side. The crack of her broken bone was loud and sickening to her ears and she screamed before she could stop herself, the pain shooting up her arm like thousands of knives.

Blinded by the pain, adrenaline rushed through her blood and she whirled around, trying to see through the white haze, and reached out with her good hand to block anything that came at her. Her assailant grabbed her arm, twisted it behind her back, and swept her feet out from under neath her, sending her crashing to her knees on the rocky concrete.

"Fuck," she gasped

One of the men laughed, sounding surprised. A hand ran down her face lightly and she jerked away, biting her tongue to hold back a yelp as she hurt her wrist trying to fight back. Her foot caught someone in the shin and she heard a curse in what sounded like Russian.

In the next moment, her own gun was smashed against the side of her head, cold, hard, and painful, pressing into her scalp. The hand holding it reached out to touch her cheek and the second man grabbed her face, tilting her head back at the hair.

In her ear, he said in thick, barely understandable English:

"Hello, pretty red bird."

* * *

Leroy Jethro Gibbs ignored Ducky's mild remark about him staring a whole through the front door and continued to glare viciously right into it. It was quarter past six now and Jenny had yet to walk through it. He knew he looked angry as hell, but anger had nothing to do with it.

The very last thing he was, was angry.

He was worried and uneasy. She had her phone; she knew they didn't have time for games or being late. This was wrong.

Decker was pacing up and down the hall, fidgeting. He was wrapped up in Kasey, probably hadn't realized that Jenny was fifteen minutes late, and starting to annoy Jethro with his constant movement. Ducky sat on the very last stair, trying to offer comfort even though his expression was becoming increasingly grim.

"Maybe she found Olivia," Decker muttered, pausing and leaning against the stairs. He rubbed his face vigorously, trying to keep awake, and looked at Jethro as if begging him to agree and just make it sound all right. "It would take them longer to get back if Liv is hurt."

Jethro didn't answer. The dumbest thing he could have done after Olivia went missing was let Jenny out of his sight and he'd let her manipulate him into it. Cursing violently to himself, he glanced at Decker, stared at his hopeful eyes, and shook his head slowly.

"Jen would have called," he said shortly.

Ducky was staring at him and he wished the doctor would stop. It was disconcerting to be scrutinized so closely, especially when he knew Ducky was busy interpreting his reactions and trying to shrink him. In frustration, Jethro pressed his speed dial one for Jenny and waited pessimistically for the outcome; she hadn't answered three times already, why would she answer now?

"When you talked to Vance last," Jethro started through gritted teeth, his eyes focused back on the front door, "what did he say?"

Decker mumbled incoherently under his breath through a yawn, rubbing his eyes furiously again and shrugged carelessly, displeasure evident in his eyes.

"He said we'd have a damn good reason to extradite, which is the goal we've been trying to achieve, if they've touched a hair on Kasey's head," Decker stopped briefly and went on, his eyes flashing, and started pacing again, "He hinted she might have been trapped into following them somewhere, which is bullshit—this is _Kasey_ we're talking about, she doesn't chase after random men. He also thinks Livy might have gotten in over her head trying to pull off something herself, you know, getting the dirt on them alone, and ended up in their power,"

Jethro looked at Decker sharply. Something about Vance using that as an explanation didn't seem quite right. That sounded like something Jenny might do, but not Olivia Kasey. She was too, as Jenny had stated, by the book to pull an ambitious stunt and risk her life.

"How long has Vance been under cover here?" Jethro asked probingly.

"A year before us," Decker answered absently.

Jethro stared past his shoulder, thinking slowly.

"He wasn't getting the job done," Jethro snapped under his breath, unconnected thoughts running through his mind. His gut was acting up twice as much as usual, but he couldn't think straight through anything until Jenny walked back into the house. He checked his watch again.

Six-thirty.

"Call Vance," Jethro ordered gruffly, turning and yanking his heavy navy-issue pea coat off of the stair rail.

"Where are you going, Jethro?" Ducky asked quietly.

"Where the hell do you think, Duck? She's still out there!' Jethro answered too quickly, his anger lashing out at Ducky full force.

"I'll keep trying to contact her," Ducky said calmly, ignoring Jethro's tone.

"I'll go with you," Decker muttered, picking up his own coat.

"Decker," Jethro stopped him, giving him a hard look, "go back to your place in the city. Go over everything again. If nothing triggers an idea or an inkling of where she could be, call Morrow. Don't waste time. Then call the police."

Decker shook his head slowly.

"It could cause a disaster. Vance—"

"Jen's right about Vance. He doesn't give a damn. I won't lost an agent if it's preventable," Jethro snarled.

Decker looked at Jethro, half in shock, and then nodded quickly, pressing his lips together. Jethro roughly pulled on his coat and was adjusting the holster of his SIG when his phone went off in his pocket. He jerked it out violently and checked the ID.

Seeing red and at the same time full of relief, he flicked open the phone. It sounded fuzzy and unclear when he held it up to his ear, but he didn't even give her a chance to speak.

"Dammit, Jenny—"

He broke off when he heard her scream. It was quiet and faraway, and muffled by the terrible service, but he recognized it. She sounded frightened. He felt like he'd been punched hard in the stomach and his throat locked up.

"Jen?" he rasped, trying to force sound out of his mouth. It sounded like her phone hit the pavement. He heard a thud and a crunch and then there was nothing but the buzzing of a bad connection.

Ducky and Decker were both staring at him with wide eyes. Decker's face had gone pale. He couldn't say anything. He slowly shut his phone and tossed it in his coat pocket, his jaw set hard and firm.

"Gibbs—" Decker started hesitantly.

"Get Vance on the damn line now," Jethro ordered coldly, shutting down completely. Ducky stood up from his place.

"What's wrong? Jethro?" he asked hurriedly, recognizing the signs of an obvious problem.

"Decker!" Jethro bellowed.

Decker jumped and yanked out his phone, his fingers traveling shakily over the dials. Jethro turned away and paced down the hall, turning around and slamming his fist into the wall violently to release the tension. He kept hearing her scream in his ears and he just wanted it to stop before it drove him mad.

He should have made her stay with him, dammit…

"No answer," Decker said quietly.

Jethro glared at him. He turned without a word and shoved past Decker in the hall, determined to get to Jenny. He wrenched the door open forcefully and stopped dead when it swung open. Leon Vance was standing there, half-slumped in the door, looking pale and slightly sick to his stomach.

He was only partially out of breath.

"The Chinese restaurant, the stakeout," he said, before Jethro or anyone else could say a word to him. Vance looked at him fiercely and straightened up, glaring at Jethro. "Go get her," he ordered.

Somehow Jethro knew Vance meant Jenny. He worked intricately with these guys, he would know what had happened—or he should. He seemed to know nothing about Kasey or anything until this moment.

Decker leapt up behind Jethro eagerly, his shoulders shaking with relief.

"Olivia's all right? You've got her?" Decker asked anxiously.

"Shepard," Vance barked in correction, "If she's all right now she won't be. Go get her," he repeated loudly.

Jethro all but shoved him down the steps in the effort to leave. Vance grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back; Decker came out onto the steps.

"You're not going alone," Vance growled, nodding at Decker. Decker started to pull the door shut.

Jethro threw Vance's arm off of him with a scowl nasty enough to rival the devil.

"I don't need any witnesses," he snarled pointedly, giving Vance a long look. Something about the slight hunted look in the black man's eyes sent his gut into overdrive. He looked like someone who was about to be slaughtered.

"If I find out you had anything to do with this," he said in barely audible undertone, his voice cold as ice and quieter than the wind. He let the sentence hang.

"Find Olivia," he snarled loudly, taking Vance's arm condescendingly and thrusting him at Decker. He stormed down the short drive to the car, his actions quick and violent down to starting the ignition.

He hit the gas, ignoring speed limits. He was completely prepared to outrun any cop who dared mess with him right now; that Chinese restaurant was almost a ten minute drive and he doubt he had a minute of that to spare. It irked him that Vance knew where she was down to the letter. There was something else at play here, something darker than just a blundered mission gone a little bit wrong.

Someone had made a big mistake, and this one wasn't Jenny's.

Jethro tried to breathe. He barely had control over the car at the speed he was driving, and he couldn't hardly see straight for the other concerns he was worried about right now. Leon Vance had already warned that Jenny was a red flag among their targets. They would want information from Jenny, or they would want a sick game.

He tried to quell the uncharacteristic panic. The worst possible scenarios flashed through his mind, most of them containing blood, and he blocked the images from his thoughts as he had right after he'd lost Shannon and Kelly. He hadn't been able to protect Shannon or Kelly; Jenny made it hard for him to protect her.

He couldn't lose her. He realized that now. He loved her and it scared the hell out of him.

He didn't know how he got there or how long it took, but somehow he managed to avoid demolishing everything in his car's wake when it skidded to a painful sounding halt outside the Chinese restaurant where this mess had all started. He got out of the car with his lips pressed together tightly.

The restaurant was empty. Opaque, ominous curtains were drawn all over and the closed sign was flipped on the front door. Through a crooked blind, you could see the chairs all stood on tables inside. Jethro swallowed down the urge to kick down doors guns blazing and strolled down the alley he'd found Jenny in weeks ago, quickly and silently making his way to the back.

The lock was simple to pick. He swung the door open quietly and adjusted his vision to the dark with the skill of a Marine, noting large shapes to avoid and finding a staircase. He heard distinctly boots clunking across the floor upstairs and naturally found his way over to the stairs, pausing at the base.

He could distinguish French, but a cold, monotonous voice was speaking in Russian, laughing softly. Taking the stairs confidently but slowly, Jethro picked out the words carefully, having learned Russian on his two tours in the corp.

"No tears yet, red bird?" the voice made a clicking sound with its tongue.

Jethro reached for his firearm.

"Make her cry. She would be so pretty with tears on her face."

Jethro clenched his jaw, his gun held tightly in his hand now. A thin strip of light fell diagonally down the stairs from where the door was cracked. He listened to the sound of movement and eased up against the wall, angling for a glimpse into the room. A sharp, loud crack sounded and the cold laughter echoed again.

Jethro raised his gun to eye level, pointing it steadily at the crack that left the door open. He could not see the source of the laughter and the mocking, but he could see with one eye a fair view of Jenny's leg. His eyes travelled upward.

The leg was bent under her and she looked like she was kneeling. Shadows shifted and her head dipped back swiftly; someone had pulled her hair back. He couldn't' see her face, but a man bent his face down close to hers and touched her shoulder.

Jenny shrank away and Jethro gripped his gun tightly, fury clouding his vision. He didn't even hesitate for a half of a second; he knew he could make the shot without hitting Jenny and he knew he'd hit the man dead between his eyes. He squeezed the trigger without a thought of how much it would terrify Jenny to have her captor's blood sprayed over her.

The man dropped like a rock and Jenny gasped audibly, the terrified gasp of someone who was sure they'd just been killed. It only took a second for the door to fly open and a flurry of Russian obscenities to reach him. Looking the man straight in his cold, black eyes, Jethro raised his gun before the Russian could even think about his and fired dead center.

He kicked the body distastefully where it fell and expertly scanned the room; they were the only two. His eyes flew to Jenny as he loosened his grip ever so slightly on his SIG. She rocked back on her knees and thrust out a hand to steady herself, coughing violently.

Jethro side-stepped the carnage and was next to her in a heartbeat, crouching down to slide his arm around her waist.

Jenny tried to fight him, her mouth tightening like it always did when she was angry, and she started to twist away. He took comfort in the idea that she'd still been trying to kick their asses even when she was hurt.

And she was hurt, badly.

"It's me. It's me, Jen," he said softly, speaking close to her ear.

"Jethro," she mumbled hoarsely, her voice sounding raw. She turned her head, opening her eyes slowly and looking at him through dull emerald eyes that showed her pain clearly.

"Took you long enough," she said, her words labored.

Her lip was busted and her nose was bruised; there was a scratch down her cheek that looked like the remnants of a backhanded slap with a ring finger. He noticed every time his hands moved at her side, she shied away. Jethro bit his lip until he tasted blood, hardly able to control the anger.

"Come on, Jenny," he said softly, "I've got you."

He rested his gun on his knee and started to help her up slowly. Jenny hissed at him and hunched over, her hand clutching at his abdomen.

"My ribs," she whispered.

Jethro immediately moved his hand away from her waist to her shoulder, pausing.

"Can you stand?" he asked. He wanted to get her home, safe. Where Ducky could fix her.

Jenny nodded stubbornly, and he could see in her face how much it hurt to straighten up. She wrapped her arm around his middle in a rare show of weakness and leaned into him, looping one arm through his and holding it close to her chest. The limited lighting cast her hand in ugly shades of purple and blue.

"Your hand, Jen," he said tightly.

"It's broken," she rasped, her head sinking into his shoulder. He wasn't sure she was fully aware of what was going on. Hesitantly, he started to guide her forward with him, around the two bodies. She stumbled at one point and he looked down; her foot was cut and bloodied, not to mention shoe less.

Jethro swallowed hard and paused.

"You can't walk," he said quietly, hating the sight.

"Yes I can," she answered stubbornly, her nails digging into his abdomen through his thick layers of clothing.

She favored her foot and bit her lip hard down the stairs, refusing to make a sound even though every step was clearly hurting her. Jethro was careful in the dark kitchen are of the Chinese restaurant, desperate not to let her run into anything in her state.

"I think Olivia's dead," Jenny mumbled, gasping as her foot touched the harsh concrete outside.

"Hush, Jenny," Jethro said.

"She's dead, Jethro," Jenny said softly, her voice shaking, "I think they killed her."

Jethro bit his tongue and ran his hand through her hair, steering away from the alley where she'd shot Assante to take the other route back to the car. Jenny's body shook in the cold and he pulled her closer, flinching when she winced in pain and recoiled from the tight touch.

"I'm sorry, Jen," he murmured distractedly.

Jenny stumbled again and he felt her bite into his shoulder with a sharp gasp, trying yet again to hold in her cries. Jethro gritted his teeth and tried to make it easier for her to get to the car. He opened the door, fumbling for his phone.

The world was eerily silent to him, except for her labored breathing and the occasional sounds she made in the back of her throat. He dissociated himself as best he could, retreating into the practical realm to get her home and get her help, hardening the steely exterior so he could support her.

Jethro chucked his phone in the back seat and touched Jenny's face, running his hand over her hair again. Jenny straightened slowly again, her forehead wrinkling, and he stood watch carefully as she got into the car, leaning back against the seat at an awkward angle.

Unable to wait, Jethro stepped up to the car and lifted the dirty, frayed material of her t-shirt to see the damage, touching his hand softly to the fair skin around her ribs that was now red and purple.

"It hurts," Jenny whispered hoarsely, her eyes fluttering open to look at him.

"I know," he met her eyes, his fingers skimming over her bare skin soothingly. He reached up slowly to touch her face, tilting it a little to look at the damage, his throat locked painfully again. He ran his finger down the length of the red scratch on her cheek, watching her wince, vehemently wishing he had the chance to shoot the man who'd done this to her again.

Jenny's eyes fluttered again and she sucked in her breath, her shoulders trembling. She looked weak, hurt, and scared and he hated it. He hated being reminded that she wasn't the invincible Queen she pranced around like every day. He hated that she was breakable.

"I didn't tell them anything," she said softly, fiercely.

Jethro tilted her head towards him and leaned forward, pressing his lips to her hot forehead gently. It was so good to touch her and know she was all right—or at least know that she would be. He pulled his head back and studied her closely, trying to shake the feeling that he'd let her down by letting this happen.

"Jen, I love you."

Jenny rested her head back against the seat's shoulder. She nodded her head slowly and reached up with the hand that wasn't broken to touch his hand. He let his fingers slide over her bloody cheek and lips and tore his eyes away, shutting the car door and making his way to the other side.

He hadn't even meant to say it, he just felt like she should know.

Jenny shifted and moaned softly as he started moving the car, a grimace spreading over her lips. Jethro gripped the steering wheel tightly with one hand and reached over to stroke her hair with the other, refusing to look at her.

She kept mumbling about Kasey and he just ran his free hand through her hair, trying to quiet her down. He stared at the road without seeing it, seeing only her, hurt and curled in the front seat, and a snapshot of his favorite memory of Shannon. There was too much going on for him to deal with what he'd said, he was too angry, too concerned, too many emotions.

He felt like he shouldn't have said it at all, even if he did love her with an intensity that scared him, that he hadn't even realized yet, and even if it had meant everything to hear her say she loved him.

* * *


	21. Broken Bird

_A/N: As usual, again, thanks to Aly. Note: this is the 'beginning of the end' of Part 2. *MOST* likely it will cut off in Positano. Perhaps. We'll see._

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He was positive Ducky had been standing right at the window waiting, since the door opened before he even got Jenny up the stairs. Leroy Jethro Gibbs gave Ducky a short nod of thanks as the medical examiner stepped out of the way and held the door, taking Jenny's arm gently and shutting the door behind her and Jethro.

Jenny winced. She kept her lips pressed tightly together and her breathing was shallow as she leaned into Jethro, trying to concentrate on anything but feeling pain.

"Into the kitchen, Jethro," Ducky said urgently, already lifting Jenny's hand expertly and feeling the pulse as a precaution. As Jethro followed slowly down the hall, Decker appeared from the living room, his eyes going wide in fear when he saw Jenny. Jethro ignored him, stopping in the kitchen doorway while Ducky fumbled to get a chair.

"What happened?" Decker demanded hoarsely, slumped against the doorway. "Is she okay, Gibbs?"

"She's alive," Jethro answered tightly, waiting for Ducky to finish what he was doing.

Ducky beckoned Jethro forward solemnly and he nudged Jenny softly to get her to move, stopping next to the chair and lifting her arm from around his waist to ease her down. Decker shuffled into the kitchen doorway, watching with a sickened look on his face. Jenny gave a strangled gasp and her hand flew to her ribs; she leaned gingerly against the table and squeezed her eyes shut.

Jethro ran his hand through her hair without thinking, soothing her quietly. He looked up, letting his hand rest comfortingly on Jenny's trembling shoulder, and spoke to Decker.

"We don't have any more time to waste," he said harshly, bothered by Jenny's concern that Kasey was already dead, "Call Morrow. Go to the police. Now; we don't have a choice."

"Leon wouldn't let us leave, Jethro. He won't let us blow the op."

"He's not in charge anymore," snarled Jethro, fixing Decker with a dark glare. The younger agent swallowed, nodding once shortly after being faced with the scowl. Jethro watched Decker turn stiffly and leave, shutting the door behind him with a click that was ominously loud.

Stonily, Jethro turned to focus his attention on his partner. Ducky crouched at her feet, having already whipped a cold washcloth wrapped around ice out of nowhere. He pulled Jenny's wrists toward him on the table and gently rested the cold compress on it, applying just the slightest pressure until she flinched.

"Jennifer, it's very important you tell me where you are injured," he said seriously, well aware that if she was anything like Jethro she would try her best to hide her wounds—and Jenny was eerily like Jethro.

Jethro watched her closely, his eyes on her face. The cuts and bruises on her were seen easily enough, and it was clear her wrist was broken cleanly. Jenny looked quietly at the cold cloth on her wrist and swallowed hard, pressing her lips together until they turned white before she answered.

"My foot," she said slowly, her voice quiet. Ducky nodded. "My ribs. That's the worst of it,"

Ducky nodded again and came forward, glancing up at her eyes quickly as if asking permission before he reached for the hem of her t-shirt as Jethro had in the car. His touch was medical, careful but searching. Jethro gritted his teeth to see the bruised and damaged skin again, his only consolation the remembrance that the men who'd done this were dead. Ducky looked up at Jenny's face and met her eyes, applying a soft, firm pressure to her side.

Jenny bit her lip and whimpered.

"Duck," Jethro warned sharply.

"My apologies," Ducky murmured, still feeling over Jenny's side tentatively. He watched her reactions, trying as hard as possible not to hurt her lest Jethro rip his arms off. He sighed and calculated the damage.

"Probably fractured, thought I doubt broken," he said slowly. "I suppose it could be worse."

Jethro glared at him and rubbed Jenny's shoulder, watching Ducky like a hawk as he reached out to touch Jenny's cheek and examine her face. He narrowed his eyes to look over the thin scratch down her face and then tilted her head to the side to examine her shoulder where the shirt was ripped, something Jethro hadn't noticed in his rush to get her back.

There was a thick, angry red welt across her shoulder that looked like it could have been made by a belt. Ducky looked up and met Jethro's eyes over Jenny's shoulder, as if silently asking him what they'd done to her. Jethro couldn't answer. He didn't really trust himself to speak. He made a short gesture with his hand, and Ducky glanced at Jenny before moving on to her foot, lifting it gingerly off the floor onto his knee.

He clicked his tongue.

Her ankle was gashed deeply, probably a wound caused by a knife drawn across it teasingly. The blood around the cut was dark and clotting, and the wound itself was messy with dirt and gravel. Her foot was covered in scratches and bruised on the side, probably stepped on, and when Ducky rolled up the cuff of her jeans he exposed a yellowish brown bruise blooming over her shin.

Jethro bit down on his tongue and clenched his fist on the table next to him. Jenny flinched away from Ducky's hand on her foot, trying to draw her foot back, but the doctor held firm, not done examining it.

"These cuts and bruises," Ducky said slowly, returning Jenny's foot to her carefully and straightening a little to direct his attention to her wrist again, "will heal, no worries. I'm concerned about your bones, Jenny," he murmured, moving the cold cloth and taking her wrist in his hand again.

Jenny watched him with wary eyes, her other hand resting limply in her lap. Jethro watched Ducky run his fingers over her wrist, touching some spots more firmly than others, watching Jenny's reactions. She bit her lip, closed her eyes, held her breath, and dug her nails into her knee but she didn't make a sound and that kind of control and endurance was damn impressive.

Ducky muttered something unintelligible to himself and stood up slowly, delicately laying Jenny's hurt wrist back on the table.

"Just a moment," he said distractedly, retreating from the kitchen.

Jethro watched him leave briefly and took the brief moment alone to study Jenny. He crouched down next to her and slipped his hand over hers where it rested on her knee, giving her an impassive look.

"That was a damn nice shot," she said softly, and for a moment, Jethro didn't have a clue what she was talking about. Then he remembered relying on his second-nature sniper training to take down the captor who had his head right next to Jenny's cheek without missing a beat.

"I was a sniper. In the Marines," he divulged quietly, watching her eyes narrow as she listened to him voluntarily offer a piece of personal information.

"Lucky for me," she said, with a small smile. Jethro gritted his teeth, unable to find any cause for light-heartedness in the situation. Jenny wrapped her hand around his and pulled it closer to her, finding his eyes again. She watched him.

"You killed them," she murmured hoarsely.

"I did what I had to, Jenny."

"You wanted to do it," she said curiously, running her fingers over his rough hands repetitively.

"They made their mistake, Jen," he said shortly, standing as he heard Ducky's returning footsteps in the hall. Her eyebrows shifted slightly and he leaned downwards a little to press his lips to her temple, murmuring in her ear response to the silent question:

"They touched you."

Ducky re-entered the kitchen with his medical bag hung on his wrist, and Jethro closed his mouth as if a conversation had never taken place at all. Jenny squeezed his fingers as he slipped his hand out of her grasp and he kept a watchful eye on Ducky and his menacing looking bag.

The bag was placed on the table and Ducky retrieved a roll of ace bandage from it, setting the brown bundle on the table and then pushing the bag a little out of the way. He unraveled a length of the bandage matter-of-factly and pulled the nearest chair out to sit in front of Jenny, setting a readied bandage close to Jenny's arm.

Jethro swallowed hard, glaring at Ducky over Jenny's head. It took him all of five seconds to figure out what Ducky was about to do, and he didn't want to watch him do it. Ducky felt Jethro's gaze on him and flicked him a stern gaze, taking Jenny's wrist again carefully and looking at her.

"Jennifer. I'm going to push the bones in your wrist back into place," he informed her honestly, speaking professionally, "Then I'm going to immobilize the injury," Ducky paused only briefly, probably to ignore the annoyed look Jethro was giving him. It was not his fault that injuries caused pain to their victims. "If you'll forgive me, this is going to hurt like hell."

Jenny just swallowed and nodded slowly.

"Jethro," Ducky said, with a nod, and Jethro wordlessly wrapped one arm around Jenny's shoulders and held her so she wouldn't move, resisting the strong urge to close his eyes. It wasn't that he couldn't stand the unpleasant sight of Ducky setting a bone; he just didn't want to watch him hurt Jenny.

"Ducky," Jenny started, her eyes fixed on her wrist, "don't count to three. Just do it," she requested. He nodded in answer and placed his hands strategically on her wrist, bending forward to see better as he found what he was looking for.

Ducky pushed firmly and surely, holding her wrist tightly, and Jenny cried out, gasping. She turned her face away from Ducky and into the crook of Jethro's arm, tensing up. Jethro turned his face into her hair and tried to calm her down; she bit down on his arm and reached up to dig her nails into him. Ducky expertly pushed hard one last time and then ran his hand over Jenny's softly, picking up the ace bandage.

"All done," he said mildly, carefully not looking at Jenny. Ducky disliked hurting Jennifer as much as Jethro; patients were much easier to care for when you didn't personally know them.

Jethro loosened his grip on Jenny a little and she stopped biting him, breathing erratically. The little pain caused by Ducky so tightly binding her wrist was nothing compared to what he'd just inflicted on her, but she flinched away all the same.

"I am sorry, Jenny," Ducky murmured, touching her arm comfortingly.

"Don't apologize," she growled hoarsely. Ducky awarded Jethro with a look. Jethro ignored him, noticing the fresh tear tracks on Jenny's cheeks. He cursed under his breath and ran a hand through her hair slowly, combing out tangles with his fingers. He knew she liked it; it relaxed her.

Setting his jaw, Jethro tore his eyes away from Ducky's ministrations with the ace bandage and pulled his arm from Jenny's grip, leaning forward to meet her eyes when she turned her head to look for him.

"I'm going to run you a bath," he murmured quietly, barely waiting for her understanding nod before he slipped out of the kitchen without a second word.

He made his way down the hall and up the stairs without really seeing anything, preoccupied with everything else that was consuming him. He had no power to stop the pain she was in and he was more than pissed off that she'd ever been injured in the first place. What the hell had he been thinking, letting her run off by herself when they suspected Kasey had been kidnapped by the same man who had an interest in Jenny? They never should have had the chance to lay a hand on Jen, except he'd handed it right to them.

Jethro violently threw the bathroom door open and took an odd satisfaction in the way it slammed loudly back against the wall. Jenny was damn right; he'd wanted to kill them. It didn't matter that it was necessary in order to get her out and preserve any shred of a cover they had left, he would have killed them even if it were possible to let them go. At least now he knew they'd never have a chance to touch her again from a grave six feet under.

Jethro turned on the faucet in the bathtub and watched as the water cascaded out, starting to slowly fill the tub with hot water. He mechanically picked up Jenny's bubble bath from the sink and poured a wasteful amount under the waterfall, observing as the soap bubbled up. The hot water would help soothe her injuries. He didn't have a clue what they were going to do about her ribs if they couldn't take her to a hospital.

Jethro walked backwards and leaned against the sink, rubbing his forehead roughly and leaving his hand to rest over his eyes. He kept seeing Shannon's face in his mind's eye, captured as she looked the last time he saw her before he deployed for Desert Storm. She wore that beautiful, brave smile and it flooded him with guilt, the same guilt that had been nagging at him since whatever he had with Jenny had crossed the line. Jenny wasn't just another cheap replacement for Shannon, he didn't spend his days with Jenny wishing she were Shannon because he liked _Jenny…_but when he did think of Shannon, he felt like he was betraying her.

She'd been the first woman he'd loved, the mother of his child. He had lost them both. It had been the single most devastating thing imaginable and he had been living it since the day it happened, forced to accept he'd never hear Kelly run shrieking through the house when he came home again. He had locked them and their memories away and guarded them fiercely, refusing to let anyone in to help him with that incurable ache. He didn't want anyone to fill the void their deaths had left.

Except Jenny did. She was such a polar opposite to Shannon and so eerily similar at the same time. He didn't see her as Shannon or wish she was Shannon, he wanted Jenny how she was and because of how she made him feel, but it scared the hell out of him that she could so easily soothe the pain and make him forget when for so long his solace had been dwelling in grief. He didn't want to forget Shannon because of Jenny. When he'd told her loved her today in the car, it had been unintentional and groundbreaking, probably more surprising to him than to her. Jenny hadn't pushed him into it.

He had just been so grateful he'd been able to protect her, even if it was a little late, like he hadn't been able to protect Shannon. He needed that redemption. He was left now to sort through this minefield of emotion without pushing Jenny away.

Tearing glazed eyes away from the slowly filling bathtub, Jethro left the warm bathroom and went digging through Jenny's things for a soft pair of track pants and a tank top, providing something comfortable for her to slip into. He laid the clothes out on the bed and went back down stairs, conscious of the foreboding silence in the house.

Jenny had her eyes closed and her head tilted back when he came back to the kitchen; Ducky was running a cotton ball doused in antiseptic over her cut up ankle. Clearing his throat, Jethro came to stand next to Jenny and waited until Ducky had scooted backwards and stood up to take her uninjured arm gently and tug softly so she'd get up.

"Her ribs, Duck?" Jethro asked quietly, slipping an arm around her waist carefully. She instinctively shied away from his hand and into his side; he moved his hand to rest around her hips instead.

"Fractured, I'm positive," he answered distractedly, looking over Jenny with a concerned frown, "She'd be in much more pain if they were broken, and the internal damage would be noticeable. Wrap the injured side in adhesive tape; it's all you can do," Ducky finished.

Jethro nodded shortly and looked down at Jenny, frowning when she stubbornly rested all of her weight on her injured foot and acted like she was going to walk on it. Ducky followed his gaze and frowned even more deeply, shaking his head slightly.

Jethro removed his phone from his pocket and handed it to Ducky without a word, starting towards the door. He glanced over his shoulder and nodded to the phone.

"Call Decker. Stay updated," he muttered, finally turning his back on Ducky and focusing his attention on Jenny. He gritted his teeth to stop himself from saying something when she walked on that hurt foot, clearly putting herself through more pain than she should. He put up with it until they reached the stairs and he sensed her muscles seize up as she summoned the strength to climb them.

Without a second thought to how easy it would be, Jethro simply picked her up, careful to avoid touching her ribs, and started carrying her up the stairs.

"Put me down," she mumbled sternly.

"No."

She turned her head and bit him feebly on the shoulder in retaliation to his denial of her request. Unwittingly, Jethro smirked, amused at her indignation at being carried. He took her into the bathroom and stopped in front of the bathtub, setting her back on her feet lightly. Jenny lifted her foot slightly and wrapped her hand around his bicep, looking at the steamy bubble bath. She breathed out slowly and turned towards him.

Jethro silently tugged the hem of her dirty shirt upwards and allowed himself only a fleeting look at the bruises darkening over her ribcage. He ran his hand softly over the welt on her shoulder and pulled her forward as his hands found the button on her jeans, absently loosening the zipper as he examined the welt.

"What did this?" he asked quietly, tilting his head a little.

"Belt," she answered dully.

He'd been right. There was red flesh and scraped skin where the buckle had dragged just below her shoulder. He pressed his palm against the scratches, right above her heart, nudging lacy bra material out of the way. Jethro waited for her to get her jeans off in whatever way didn't hurt her, noticing that she winced when he started to do it himself. She dug her teeth into her bottom lip and used her newly re-set wrist.

He made a pact with himself to kill her when she got better for being so thick headed.

Jenny tucked a lock of tangled hair behind her ear and reached behind her to unsnap her bra and slipped her panties off right after. Jethro lightly touched her ribs again, angered every time he saw the bruises and watched the wary pain flicker in her green eyes. Jenny drew away from him in favor of the warm bath, the paling of her complexion the only indication that she hurt herself when she sank down into the clean water.

She rested her bandaged wrist on the side of the tub and tilted her head back against the wall, the steam from the water instantly curling the ends of her hair. Swallowing as he watched her try to adjust and find a comfortable position, similar to the restless way she'd moved in the car, gingerly holding herself, Jethro thought of something that would soothe the pain infinitely faster than hot water and time to heal.

He caught the slightly worried look in Jenny's eye as he turned on his heel and left her. He returned from his unexpected exit with a tumbler filled to the brim with amber alcohol and two pills in his palm. Crouching next to the bathtub, he placed the tumbler next to her and held out the capsules, placing them delicately in her palm when she lifted it from the bubbles.

She took a long drink from the tumbler first, pressing her lips together and swallowing before she took the medicine he'd given her and washed it down with another drink. She held the tumbler of bourbon away from her slightly and swirled the liquid.

"What did I take?" she asked hoarsely, drawing another small smirk from Jethro. It should probably be a cause for concern on his part that Jenny simply knocked back whatever drugs were given to her and decided to ask what she was swallowing later.

"OxyContin," he told her. He wasn't sure Ducky would approve but he wouldn't know Jethro had snatched it from his bag until it had already helped. Jenny lifted an eyebrow at him mildly.

"The good stuff," she muttered drily.

Jenny remained quiet for a moment and then took another drink, closing her eyes.

"Olivia?" she asked hesitantly.

"We don't know anything," he answered tiredly, "I authorized Will to involve the authorities."

"She's not okay, Jethro," Jenny said softly, squeezing her eyes shut tighter.

"You don't know that, Jen."

"I can feel it," she said sharply, her lip twitching downwards slightly. She opened her eyes a little and looked at him, her lips parted slightly. "I don't speak Russian," she said huskily, "but they said her name. The Frenchman mentioned screwing someone over, breaking a promise. I could see the sick amusement in their eyes when they talked about her."

Jethro shifted to his knees and leaned forward, resting his arm next to hers on the side of the bathtub and dipped his hand into the hot water, stroking her shoulder soothingly.

"Something feels off," she said dully, and he had to agree with her. It's the same feeling he'd gotten in his gut when Decker had mentioned Vance's statement that if anyone had touched a hair on Kasey's head, they'd have a damn good reason to extradite. Extradition was their ultimate goal. Jethro set his jaw angrily, starting to wonder if Leon Vance had tried to pull something over that had gone south faster than he could control it.

Jenny lifted her leg slowly and placed her injured foot on the opposite wall, pressing her toes into the tile. The cuts were clean now and easily visible, red around the edges, some deeper than others.

"He liked my foot," she said in an undertone, looking at it with a faraway gaze. "They wanted to know what organization we were. What kind of information we operated on."

Jethro turning his hand over to drag his knuckles over her collarbone, pleased to feel her tight muscles relax at his touch.

"Every time I kept my mouth shut, he drew a butcher knife along the skin."

Jethro swallowed hard, listening to her speak, quiet and monotonous. He hadn't thought she'd talk at all.

"Hurt like hell when those steel-toed boots hit my ribs," she said, sounding angry. She looked at Jethro, her eyes a mixture of frustration and guilt, maybe even despair. At least he couldn't see the pain anymore.

"I hesitated. He broke my wrist, disarmed me. I couldn't defend myself."

Jethro shifted his hand to her waist, his fingers tracing the fractured bones there carefully, his hand pressing into her hips. Jenny's breathing hitched in her throat and she parted her lips again, blinking her eyes slowly.

He knew she was frustrated because she'd been put in a position of submission and hadn't been able to get herself out of it alone. She hated weakness, she hated in herself more. It wouldn't matter if he told her two-against-one made things different, just like it wouldn't matter if someone told him it wasn't his fault she'd been hurt.

He ran his hand along the inside of her thigh, his fingertips pressing lightly against soft skin.

Jenny moaned quietly, wrapping her fingers around the hand he rested on the side of the tub.

"You aren't weak, Jen," Jethro muttered, gauging the change of her breathing expertly, moving his hand to rest his fingers against her bandaged wrist so he could sense the change in her pulse as well.

"Then please stop looking at me like I'm about to shatter," she hissed half-heartedly, drawing her bottom lip into her mouth and tilting her head back. She took a deep breath and lifted her other leg, hitting his arm with her knee.

"You're hurt, Jenny," he pointed out sharply, "There's a difference between injury and weakness."

Jenny's eyes fluttered and she looked at him pensively, color flushing back into her cheeks. Jethro brushed his hand over her lower stomach and her pulse leapt against his thumb. She ran her hand through her hair and curled her toes.

"Jethro," she whimpered, leaving her hand tangled in her hair and arching her back just slightly, breathing in sharply. She winced and gritted her teeth, her eyes flying open, bright with unshed tears.

"Jethro, stop," she whispered reluctantly, "it hurts to breathe," she admitted when he looked at her. Nodding, he pressed his hand lightly against her thigh again and drew it up her side, letting her pull her hand from her hair and grab his hand. She lifted it to her mouth and pressed her lips against his knuckles, bowing her head to rest her head against his hand.

He might have felt tears on his knuckles, but it could have been water dripping from her hair. Unsure, he just watched her, waiting, sensing conflict in her. Her hand moved to circle his wrist and she tugged, encouraging him forward. He kissed her instinctively, aware that's what she wanted, and brushed his lips along her jaw. She placed a kiss below his ear, her lips shaking.

"I want to be alone a minute, Jethro," she said almost inaudibly.

He didn't want to leave her alone, but he did. He understood on some level. She couldn't think with him watching her like an over-protective hawk. He drew his hand out of her grasp and touched her cheek lightly before he left, leaving the door all but shut behind him.

Without anything else to do but wait, he slowly went back downstairs to retrieve his phone from Ducky.

"Anything?" he asked, when he encountered Ducky looking through his medical bag in the kitchen.

"Not a word," Ducky answered pessimistically, turning and holding up the container of OxyContin with a lifted brow. Jethro just shrugged, choosing not to explain. The pain medicine would do the trick until the decided what they were going to do.

Jethro slipped his phone into his pocket and turned to leave, just as unwilling to sit around and make small talk with Ducky. He should leave Jenny with the medical examiner and go find Olivia, but he knew he wouldn't be able to focus. Therein lay the problem of falling in love with your partner.

"Jethro, how is Jenny?" Ducky asked with concern.

Pausing only briefly, Jethro shrugged casually again and gave the answer she'd want him to.

"She's fine."

Ducky didn't seem pleased with the reply, but he could have cared less for Ducky's feelings at the moment.

He shut the door to his room this time, pulling the phone out and tossing it with disgust onto the bed, taking the moment to try and piece together what the hell was going on. Leon Vance had seemed unconcerned with Olivia's disappearance from the beginning, accusing her of everything from recklessness to attempting to pull something over she couldn't handle. It started to sound like he was projecting fault on someone else. If Vance had been ingratiated here for a year, unable to successfully find means to extradite, then he would be understandably bitter that four agents had been brought in to help, especially when two of them were women.

Jethro's judgment was mixed on Leon Vance. He didn't get the impression the man was a traitor, or harbored a secret desire to bring down the United States, but he didn't put it past the man to possess a hidden personal agenda and he didn't quite know if he trusted him. Jenny had put them all in a precarious position when she'd inadvertently pulled the trigger in that alley weeks ago, but all of this seemed like an extreme result.

Clenching his fist in frustration, Jethro paced towards the wall and back to his original position, running a hand over his face. Vance's initial plan to frame the Russian for Assante's murder had failed, as Jethro had known it would. Surely Vance didn't have the guts to attempt using Kasey as bait to accomplish extradition.

Jethro swallowed hard, the taste in his mouth sour. Vance hadn't shown a shred of worry or emotion until Jenny had turned up missing. Jethro had a sudden, irrepressible urge to hunt down Leon Vance and shoot his kneecaps out. For once in his life he hoped to God his gut was wrong.

Turning towards the bed, Jethro sat down and yanked his SIG from its familiar place on his hip, running his palm over it and feeling the cool metal under his hands. He checked the clip for ammo and then leaned back against the headboard, just looking at the weapon with dull eyes, his legs crossed in front of him.

Viciously, he used his heels to slip his shoes off and chuck them across the room, satisfaction seeping through him when they banged against the wall.

"Be nice to your shoes," he heard softly, and turned to see Jenny standing in the bathroom doorway, wrapped in the fluffiest purple towel she could find. She smiled a little and came across the room, this time favoring her foot a little instead of idiotically walking on it. She crawled across the bed with a wince and curled into his side, placing her hand against her side gingerly.

"I'm done being alone now," she murmured into his side, her soaking wet hair tumbling over his arm and the pillows. It was ironic how like blood her damp crimson hair looked. Her breathing was shallow, adjusted so it wouldn't hurt her when she inhaled and exhaled, and she lay so that her broken wrist rested on his thigh instead of smashed under her.

She reached up with her smaller hand and took his gun from him gently, giving it a fleeting glance before she slid it down the comforter nearer to his phone. She rested that hand across his lap on his other leg, tracing a small circle absently.

"I didn't think I was coming out alive," she said slowly, turning her head so he could hear her clearly though she spoke softly. "I was scared as hell."

"It's all right, Jen," he answered calmly, stroking her hair.

"I know," she answered, squeezing his thigh lightly. "Because I have you."

His throat locked up. He didn't think he deserved that kind of trust.

The blaringly loud ringing of his phone broke the silence, inducing Jenny to startle and gasp when she twisted, forgetting about her injured ribs. Jethro lunged forward to snatch the phone, sitting at an awkward angle, pulling Jenny towards him as she awkwardly sat up with a pained look on her face. He ran his hand up her shoulder as she lifted her hand to clutch the front of the towel, watching him warily answer the phone.

"Gibbs."

His face didn't falter an inch as he listened and Jenny didn't know what to think as she watching him, trying to glean some sort of information from his icy blue eyes.

"Where?" he asked monotonously, demandingly.

He nodded once, shortly, to himself, and snapped the phone closed, thrusting it into his pocket. Without a word, he picked up his SIG and placed it back in its holster, standing up. Jenny looked up at him, her lips parted, her eyes questioning.

"They found her?" she asked.

Jethro nodded expressionlessly.

"Is she all right?" Jenny asked, feeling sick.

She could tell by the look in his eyes. Jenny shook her head minutely and tried to ignore the lurch in her stomach and the sick feeling spinning her head.

"Jethro, is Olivia all right?" she repeated, on the verge of panic.

"Stay here, Jen," he answered coldly, leaving the room purposefully without another word.

He disliked leaving her like that, but he refused to tell her what Decker had said until he saw it for himself. Ducky appeared at the foot of the stairs from his bedroom when he heard Jethro's angry footsteps, looking worried.

"Jethro—" he started, but Jethro was already out the door and had slammed it pointedly behind him.

This time, he didn't travel up towards the cul-de-sac like he had the first time he'd met Vance but towards the open end of the street. When he met with a crossroads, he turned left, taking the sidewalk down an older part of the suburban neighborhood. The streetlights were on and the place was almost too public, so it was a damn good thing it was close to two o'clock in the morning.

He made out Decker walking towards him before he reached the spot; Vance was standing like a statue a little way forwards. Decker just stopped in front of him, pale, his eyes red from lack of sleep and dark underneath, his shoulders shaking. Jethro put a hand on his shoulder and then pushed past him, ignoring the biting cold as he approached Vance.

He was already braced for the sight. Her body was in the ditch, peppered with obvious signs of torture, some similar to Jenny's, others vastly different. The bullet hole in the middle of her forehead was clean through and final.

Decker crept up behind him, looking over his shoulder. It was his partner lying there in front of them, an unnecessary casualty. Words couldn't describe the heavy, tense silence permeating the atmosphere.

"This shouldn't have happened," Leon Vance said gruffly, his head lifting up, as he looked hard at Jethro.

"You're damn right it shouldn't have happened," Jethro growled immediately, unable to suppress the rage he felt towards the man right now. He clenched his fist as a reflex and felt Decker tense behind him, hardly even realizing he'd followed through with his initial urge to punch Leon Vance until Decker grabbed his arm and pulled him back, shouting hoarsely.

Leon stumbled backwards, his hand darting upwards to his nose. He didn't say anything, but he looked pissed as hell as his blood started to flow. Jethro's knuckles throbbed, indicating just how hard he'd hit Vance, but the vengeance felt good.

"Goddamnit, Gibbs," Vance finally growled. "This isn't my fault!"

"It sure as hell better not be," Jethro snarled, tearing his eyes away from Olivia Kasey's body and wresting his arm from Decker's weak grip to advance on Leon. He gave the other man a glare worthy of quailing Satan himself and reigned in the desire to throw another right hook at Leon just for good measure.

He was shaken by the thought that the body in the ditch could have easily been Jenny's.

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	22. Wounds

_A/N: I apologize for the wait between updates :/ I became curiously busy with work and school and missed a lot of oppurtunitites to write/update. Hope its worth it the wait!_

_Thanks to Aly!_

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Director Morrow had them out of Paris faster than they could blink. He placed them on the first flights available, whether there were seats enough or not. Decker went first, barely two hours after Leon Vance found Olivia Kasey, on a red-eye flight to the States. He pulled Jenny out next on Ducky's recommendation because of her injuries.

She'd considered refusing to leave, but Jethro had point-blank told her he would tie her up, gag her, and drag her onto the plane if she didn't go voluntarily. She didn't have the strength to argue with him when he'd just spent half the night trying to make her feel better, so she'd ended up alone on a plane back to Dulles with only a hastily stuffed duffle bag.

It was still early in the States, barely morning. One of the Director's security guards had picked her up at the airport with hardly a word to her, and he'd taken her straight to Bethesda, which did nothing but piss her off. She hated Bethesda on principle because it was a hospital.

After being tested, poked, prodded, and asked if she could see straight about a thousand times, they had finally let her go. As much as she wanted to go home and curl up in her bed, she wasn't allowed to leave NCIS Headquarters until the team was assembled and Morrow had spoken with him.

She sat in his office now, trying to get comfortable on the Director's couch, assuming he was in MTAC dealing with French Authorities. She already knew Olivia's death was being reported as a fatal car accident. It seemed a weak substitute for the real way she'd died, and Jenny didn't like it. She felt slighted for Olivia, as if she wouldn't get the recognition she deserved when she was just a female agent who lost a fight with a car. Car accidents happened every day.

She was tired and restless, and the stiff adhesive tape the Bethesda doctors had wrapped around her ribs made it difficult to curl up comfortably. She had two fractured ribs but the injury wasn't bad, and according to the doctors, Ducky has done a fantastic job of setting her wrist. All they had done at Bethesda was check her blood and give her a tetanus shot and generally clean her up before they let her go. She firmly maintained Bethesda had been an unnecessary stop. She hoped they made Jethro go there just to make her feel better.

She couldn't believe Olivia was dead. She didn't want to think about it. She hadn't had a chance to, but it was quiet now and she was alone and she couldn't stop herself. Decker's reaction was bothering her most. He was on the dramatic side; he'd been near hysterical since this all started, but after Jethro had dragged him into the safe house in Paris and sat him down without a word, he'd just remained silent and he'd stared.

Jenny placed her forehead delicately in her palm and looked down at the armrest of the Director's couch, biting her lip sharply. She couldn't ignore the guilt that kept plaguing her when she thought of how this had started when she'd shot Armande Assante in the alley. Beyond that, she knew it was never supposed to happen this way, that when the Director had sent them undercover a death had never been in the cards.

In the back of her mind, she couldn't help but wonder that if she'd focused more, if she and Jethro both had watched their step just a little closer instead of thinking about the next time they'd see each other naked, this wouldn't have happened. She didn't know if he was thinking the same thing or not.

He'd barely said a word to her before she'd left, just touched her cheek softly beyond the view of Leon and Decker before Ducky took her to the airport. She knew he wasn't a talker; she expected that, but this was one time when she'd wished he'd said or done more.

Shifting with a wince, Jenny looked out the vast window behind Morrow's desk over the harbor, watching the grey light of morning start to spread over the Navy Yard. NCIS would be bustling with activity soon, and she didn't want to be in the midst of it. None of them would know, yet, about the loss of Kasey, and she couldn't pretend everything was fine and humor them when they teased her about Jethro.

Jethro. She wanted him with her. She wanted to just curl up in his arms and bury her face in his shoulder and ignore the world for a while. She wanted to hear him talking in her ear because even though he never had much to say, whether he couldn't or just wouldn't vocalize, she loved his voice. She'd been so glad to hear his voice back in Paris when she'd thought she was done for.

His voice—or more particularly, his words—had anchored her to consciousness when the throbbing pain in her wrist had been almost unbearable. His point-blank, matter-of-fact, 'Jen, I love you' had meant the world to her. It cemented everything. For them, there was no going back now.

She turned her head away from the lightening sky to the door when it clicked softly, opening. Dully she looked, expecting Charlene coming in to 'check on her' again. She prepared to perk up and pretend to be perfectly fine until she realized, as he shut the door, that it was Jethro standing in front of her.

Jenny didn't move for a minute. She found his eyes and tried to read his thoughts, but he just looked tired as hell. She swung her bare feet off of the couch and got up as painlessly as possible and went to him, wrapping her arms around him tightly just to feel his warmth. Jenny let out a shaky breath and closed her eyes, breathing him in.

He wrapped his arms around her waist and shoulders, his hand spreading out over the adhesive bandage that made her left side stiff.

"You're a sight for sore eyes, Jen," he said hoarsely, his exhaustion evident in his voice. He ran his thumb up and down on her side, running his hand down the back of her head and tugging her back gently at the hair, his eyes finding hers again. "Are you all right?"

She just looked at him, unsure of how to answer. He shifted his hand to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing against her lips.

"They patched you up," he said, relieved.

"They dragged me to Bethesda at gunpoint," she responded softly, drily.

Jethro's eyes darkened briefly and he held her closer around the shoulders, shaking his head at her just slightly.

"It's not funny, Jenny," he said quietly, unable to handle her joking about being held at gunpoint.

"No," she answered thickly, her lashes gathering unshed tears before she could hold them back.

Jethro kissed her to stay the tears and hide the sound she made before she could start to cry, running his hands through her hair and over her shoulders slowly, trying to soothe her and reassure himself that she was safe at the same time. It had been frustrating not to have her in his sights for that minimal time period when he was still in Paris, when he knew that she'd want his brand of comfort more than anything.

Jenny clutched at his arms and the rumpled jacket he was wearing, pulling him closer to her, reluctant to let go. She was drowning her senses in him and him only when the small of her back hit the corner of Morrow's desk and his hand brushed the inside of her thigh. She turned her head away a little, so his lips grazed her cheek, and he wrapped his hands around her arms lightly, staying close with his breath on her neck.

"After all that's happened," she said quietly, trying to catch her breath, "the last thing I want is for Morrow to catch us having sex in his office."

She wasn't trying to be funny; she was dead serious. She ignored how desperately she wanted him to kiss away the pain and make love to her; she had to speak for both of them before he ripped away the shreds of her self-control. He saw the merit in her words, but he took his time pulling away. He placed a kiss below her ear and let his hands slide down her arms and over her legs before he stepped back, lacing his fingers through hers tightly. She leaned back against the desk, his hand in hers, and barely had enough time to breathe again before Morrow entered his office, a grim expression on his face.

He took a haggard look at them and absently gestured to the conference table. Jethro let his hand slip effortlessly from Jenny's and she followed him over; he pulled a chair out for her and remained standing himself. Morrow sat down, his usual strength sapped.

"French Authorities have agreed to overlook our indelicate choice to operate within their borders without their knowledge," he began tiredly, "it seems French Intelligence has been as eager as us to rid themselves of our friends. We aren't the only ones who sustained a casualty in this affair;" Morrow paused slowly, "A few of Agent Kasey's colleagues at the French Precinct were killed."

Jenny bit down hard on the inside of her lip.

Looking at them both studiously, Director Morrow straightened up a little and leaned back in the chair he'd taken, his eyes very sad.

"Olivia Kasey's death is being recorded as an automobile accident on assignment. I know that it's not the epitaph she deserves, but there is nothing I can do. Agent Decker is on his way to inform her parents right now,"

Jenny parted her lips in concern. Morrow's eyes flicked to her and he continued pointedly:

"He wanted to do it. It may not seem prudent to let him, but it is something he feels he needs to do."

Jenny closed her mouth and nodded minutely. She didn't envy Decker's task.

"Agent Shepard," he asked softly, "How are your injuries?"

Jenny swallowed the lump in her throat and cleared it, her mouth feeling too dry to speak.

"I'll live," she answered grimly.

"Yes. I was more worried about the men who attempted to torture you," Morrow said, with a small smile. Jenny appreciated the praise, and gave a faltering smile back, but even though it was nice to know Morrow wasn't afraid to acknowledge her worth, she couldn't summon the necessary words for a thank you.

"Sometimes these missions go south. It's a possibility no one ever wants to face. That being said, you both seem to have kept as cool a head as possible. Even so," Morrow was looking at Jenny now, his eyes on the fading scar on her cheek, "I want you to see the psychiatrist for an evaluation, Jenny, before we send you back overseas," Morrow paused, watching them. Jenny barely blinked to show her surprise; she knew Jethro wouldn't express his if he felt any. "No, this isn't over. We won't back down when they've taken one of our own," Morrow said coldly.

Jenny's throat constricted as the familiar anger at Olivia's killers crept back into her skin. She nodded curtly when the Director glanced at her again.

"Ducky does not count as a psychiatrist," he said mildly, his eyes on Jethro and an eyebrow raised slightly. Jenny got the feeling her lover had substituted the medical examiner for numerous times before she had arrived. Typical. She scowled briefly at Morrow; she wasn't any more a fan of shrinks than Jethro.

Morrow smiled sadly and apologetically.

"It's for your benefit, Jenny, believe me. Post Traumatic Stress can be hell—"

"I don't have post-traumatic stress," Jenny interrupted disbelievingly, caught off guard. Morrow nodded to indulge her.

"You may not think so," he said gently, "but I want to be sure. As for now," Morrow sat forward, his arm resting benignly on the conference table, eyes on Jethro again, "I know you're tired. I suspect you both want to go home and deal with this in your own way. But I'm asking you not to leave Headquarters until Agent Decker returns and is briefed. Keep yourselves occupied if you need to. Jenny, feel free to lie down on Charlene's couch if that's more comfortable for you."

Jenny stood up, gripping the table in front of her for support. She shook her head slightly, preferring to keep busy if they had to stick around NCIS until God knew when. It was still early; maybe she could spend her time reading through Cold Cases.

"Thank you for the offer," she said, "but they made me lie down enough at Bethesda." She gave him a look for making her go there in the first place and stepped back from the table, glancing slowly around to Jethro. He was glaring straight across the room at Morrow, who looked back at him mildly.

"You're free to go," Morrow said, standing up, "though I can see you'd rather stay and have a chat, Jethro."

He said it as if he were steeling himself for battle and Jenny allowed reluctantly that he probably was. She glanced between them briefly and let her eyes linger on Jethro before she went to leave, curious about what he wanted to hash out with the Director alone and annoyed with him for staying behind.

Jethro made sure she had closed the door with a soft click before he turned, following Morrow with his eyes all the way to his cluttered desk. The sun was almost up over Washington, D.C. now, but it still felt dark. He was jetlagged and tired, but neither made him forget what exactly he was here to discuss. He knew Jenny wanted him, even if it was just to sit across the bullpen and look at him sharply, but this was important.

Morrow stood behind his desk, his palms flattened against it, looking at Jethro and waiting stoically. After a heavy silence, Jethro narrowed his eyes.

"Vance," he growled quietly, and it was all he had to say.

Morrow sighed and sat down, rubbing both hands over his tired face in defeat.

"Vance," he repeated in exasperation.

Jethro approached the desk; his jaw set firmly, his shoulders tense. Leon Vance was the only one still in Paris, the only one who hadn't been extracted. His cover, technically, was still intact, and it was too risky and detrimental to try and extract him. He was sporting a nasty black eye and a cut lip thanks to Jethro, but it was nothing compared to what he could have done if Ducky hadn't been there to stop him.

He glared at Morrow coldly now, his emotions getting the better of him and throwing all notions of cautionary respect out the window. Morrow was equally prepared for it.

"He used Agent Kasey," Jethro said coldly. "He told her to meet him and set them on her."

"He is not a traitor, Gibbs," Morrow said quietly.

"No," Jethro growled, trusting his judgment enough to believe that, "but he's not reliable. He took a dangerous, desperate risk in trusting those bastards not to hurt her in order to achieve a goal he couldn't accomplish alone. Agent Kasey trusted him; he threw her life away."

"Agent Vance has been given a lot of slack in the past year due to the intricacies of his assignment," Morrow started slowly, his eyes on Jethro resolutely, "he is used to making quick and authoritative decisions. He felt, I'm sure, that extradition needed to be achieved as soon as possible considering the tensions and threats created by Miss Shepard's kill—"

"He isn't the Director, Sir," Jethro pointed out sharply, not caring if he interrupted. He didn't want to get into Jenny's mistake. "He voluntarily put two of his colleagues in danger; one of them ended up dead. Shepard could have been killed," Jethro paused briefly, "because of a reckless attempt to speed up the end of a mission. He can't take chances like that!"

"Jethro," Morrow started calmly, in a cool voice, "Believe me, I'm the last person to applaud Leon's decision, but I sincerely doubt he had any intention of letting either Agent Kasey or Agent Shepard get hurt. I firmly believe he thought the danger to them was minimal when he made the choice to go forward with this plan—"

"A plan he didn't run by you or any of us," Jethro interrupted in a snarl. Morrow just held up his hand until Jethro fell silent and continued fairly, in the same voice.

"Do not think Leon is taking this lightly. He's well aware of what he's responsible for. You and I were Marines, Jethro—"

"Are," Jethro interrupted darkly, out of habit.

'Sorry?"

"We _are_ marines, Sir," he said emphatically.

Morrow gave a small smirk.

"You and I _are_ marines, Jethro. We've been in bad positions before where the choices are either bad or worse, and we've had to make them. And you know as well as I do that sometimes, no matter what happens, the results are terrible. But someone has to make the tough decisions. Vance did that, and he probably chose wrong, but he's a valuable asset, as valuable as you or Shepard. And I think," Morrow paused and gave a little, grim smile, "you're right hook was enough of a rebuke."

Jethro refused to look sorry for sucker punching Vance. He would have done much worse if it had been permitted. He clenched his fists at his side, furious that Morrow had played the bad decisions card. He knew what it was like, yeah, he'd been in combat and been faced with those impossible choices that had to be made in a second, but this was different. This was deliberate, and he couldn't be convinced Vance had had no other option.

"He's been reprimanded, Jethro," Morrow said shortly. "This conversation ends here."

"Yes, sir."

Jethro nodded through clenched teeth, ready to break something. Morrow stood up slowly, rubbing his head again. Jethro took a moment to glare at him for good measure, for the first time really angry with Tom Morrow, and turned to go, biting back his rage and resolving to find Jenny.

Morrow called him back quietly. He turned, his hand on the office door.

"One more thing, Jethro," he said tiredly. Jethro eased his hand off the door, standing by it stiffly, waiting.

"Agent Shepard's status has been changed. She's no longer a probationary agent. Thought you might like to tell her," he said with a smile, one that was more than just sad and tired this time.

Jethro nodded curtly. Morrow nodded his head dismissively and Jethro wrenched the door open, passing Charlene as she shuffled back into her office and tried to scramble out of his way. Quickly, Jethro made his way down the stairs and gave the bullpen a cursory glance. Jenny wasn't there, though a few agents had started to straggle in. One was yawning with his head on his desk.

His first thought was that she might have gone to find Ducky, but he knew Autopsy was the last place she would go if she was upset unless she was hiding from him, and he was positive she wasn't. He found his way over to the elevator after a search in the break room and the restroom, puzzled. It was a _possibility_ she'd gone and locked herself in interrogation just to be funny, but he doubted she was in a joking mood.

The elevator opened and his search stopped. Jenny was sitting on the floor, her legs stretched out in front of her, her head resting against the wall. She looked up at him through her eyelashes and he reached out his hand, helping her up. He didn't know what to do with her, since he couldn't take her home with him.

She didn't let him touch her beyond giving her a hand, probably concerned about watchful eyes. He hated how blank she looked standing in front of him as the elevator slid shut. She looked at him through tired eyes and shrugged her shoulders hopelessly.

"I don't want to be here," she said shortly, softly, brushing past him gently.

Her hand grasped his briefly and he sighed, bringing it up to rub his forehead before he followed her into the bullpen, as tired and reluctant to sit around here as she was.

* * *

"Can I wake him up?"

"Bad idea, Burly."

"Do you think he's really asleep? _Really_?"

Chris Pacci rolled his eyes at the energetic agent staring in disbelief at Leroy Jethro Gibbs. Stan had been over the moon when he'd bounded in and found Gibbs sprawled out unceremoniously in his chair. Pacci hadn't exactly shared his sentiments. Yes, things were boring around NCIS without Gibbs to piss everyone off, but he hadn't heard they were coming back stateside, and that made him feel like something was wrong.

He looked around warily for Jenny Shepard. The Director had been closed up in MTAC all morning. This definitely wasn't good.

"Burly! Stop it!" Pacci hissed sternly, preventing the other Agent from shouting Gibbs' name.

Why wouldn't Burly learn that it was unwise to wake a sleeping marine, much less one with Gibbs' temperament?

"He's asleep. He would have hit me by now if he wasn't—"

"He's not asleep."

Pacci brightened to hear her long-unheard voice from behind him, right as the familiar _whack_ of Gibbs hitting Stan reverberated around the room. Jenny Shepard leaned over the bullpen wall gingerly, a Styrofoam cup of generic NCIS coffee in her hand. She gave Pacci a small, friendly smile.

Stan yelped from behind him as Gibbs stood, glaring at him. Jenny smirked into her cup and came around the corner, coming to stand beside Pacci. Stan retreated to a safe distance from Gibbs and a smile broke out over his face as he looked between them. He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"Did you two have fun in Paris?" he asked suggestively, smirking.

Jenny gave him a cold look, not answering. Her finger tapped lightly against her cup, a way for her to keep her cool by focusing on something. Pacci sensed her demeanor and turned a little, his eyes suddenly worried, looking from her to Gibbs.

"Something happened, didn't it?" he asked, lowering his voice.

Jethro nodded slowly. Pacci's kind eyes turned to Jenny and he started to ask when he noticed for the first time the badge pinned to her shirt, covered with a black strip of mourning. He closed his mouth and swallowed, looking back to Gibbs.

"Who?" he asked, gesturing to the badge. Stan fell silent and his smile faded.

"Olivia Kasey," Jethro said gruffly.

Jenny took a drink of her coffee. She burned her tongue deliberately, focusing on the sting in her mouth instead of behind her eyes.

"Decker?" Pacci asked.

Jethro jerked his head towards MTAC. Pacci nodded, his eyes following. That explained why the Director was virtually unattainable. It was a little after noon and no one had seen hide or hair of him since yesterday morning.

Stan reached into his pocket and pulled out his badge silently, wrapping the black strap around it without a word. For once, he was silent and didn't dare make a teasing remark. He hadn't known Kasey well, hadn't ever worked with her, but they all felt the loss of a fellow agent deeply. Pacci followed suit with his, fastening it onto his shirt.

Jenny lifted her arm to brush back her hair and Stan moved towards her, unwitting of her injuries, and reached out to touch her side in good intentions. She winced visibly and bit her lip hard; Jethro yanked Stan back by the scruff of his neck.

"Do not touch her," he growled, releasing Stan violently.

Stand gave him a shocked look.

"I wasn't going to hurt her!" he protested, shaking his arm nervously. He looked at Gibbs like he was crazy, and Jenny rested her hand against her ribs, protecting them.

"You all right?" Jethro asked tersely.

"He didn't know, Jethro," she answered a little sharply, annoyed with his reaction. If she didn't know better, she'd think he was jealous at the idea of Stan laying a hand on her.

"Are you hurt, Jenny?" Pacci asked, turning to her.

"It's nothing," she said.

"It's two fractured ribs," Gibbs growled, glaring at Stan.

"I'm sorry," the younger man stammered, looking sincerely apologetic. "Really, Jen, I just thought you might want a hug."

Jenny smiled a little painfully, endearing as the statement was, and immediately corrected him out of habit:

"Don't call me 'Jen'."

"Jenny," Stan corrected softly.

Pacci frowned softly and looked at Gibbs studiously, watching the disgruntled look in the other agent's eye. He was watching his partner carefully, guarding her. In better circumstances, Pacci might have thrown out a wolf-whistle and collected on his bet with Stan, but this situation was too heavy for jokes. He did, however, think that Gibbs had overreacted just a little when Stan had touched Jenny.

"Is Ducky around, then?" Pacci asked quietly.

"In autopsy," Jethro answered gruffly. Pacci nodded and gave Jenny a soft pat on the back before he turned to pay the doctor a visit. Stan stood in the bullpen looking upset and apologetic, his usual enthusiasm gone. Jenny gave him a quick look and stepped up to Jethro, hoping he didn't notice her favor her foot slightly again.

She handed him the coffee cup wordlessly. He gave her a disgusted look after taking a drink.

"That is not coffee," he snapped moodily, "why don't we have any that's worth a damn?"

"Morrow won't let us leave the building," Jenny reminded him quietly.

Jethro grumbled under his breath and set the Styrofoam cup down in irritation.

"I'll make a coffee run," Stan offered hesitantly, still looking put out. "You guys could use it," he added, shrugging slightly.

Jenny nodded to him, grateful even though they hadn't ever really hit it off. He smiled a little and scampered off, a little of his heart coming back. Jethro glared after him until the elevator closed and Jenny touched his hand on the desk to pull his attention back.

"What was that about?" she asked shortly.

He just grunted at her and sat back down roughly while she looked at him. Gingerly, Jenny sat on the edge of his desk like she used to and ran her hand along the edge of the metal, shifting so the adhesive tape around her middle didn't obstruct her breathing so.

"Jethro, what's wrong?" she asked gently.

He just looked at her, and she finally gave up, retreating to her desk. She sank into her chair, feeling alone even though there were plenty of people around, while he continued to look at her, his gaze changing from piercing to soft.

She wanted to leave. She wanted a warm bed and an alcoholic drink. The morphine they'd given her at Bethesda was more and more quickly wearing off and her head was starting to ache with fatigue. She felt like throwing up. She wanted to be alone with Jethro, alone where he didn't act so shut down and closed off. He had been in a foul mood since he'd left Morrow's office. She knew it had something to do with Vance. Decker had told her what happened.

Jenny didn't even care. She wanted to cry.

Jethro watched her sullenly, wondering what she was thinking. He hated sitting in the bullpen being watched while the news spread through the agency that Olivia Kasey was dead and Jenny started looking paler with every passing minute. He was angry at Morrow for forcing them to stay until Decker was briefed. He wanted to take Jenny home. He couldn't stop thinking about getting her in his bed, even if it was just to finally see her get some sleep.

The day dragged on agonizingly. Stan's coffee was a gift they both needed, but it barely lasted ten minutes. Jenny was so tired she didn't think she could sleep if she tried. Stan tried to lighten the mood by throwing around a few jokes, and Pacci talked quietly to Gibbs about a few of the cases that had gotten really out of hand lately, but she couldn't see how he could talk so normally.

She was staring blankly into the orange horizon, her shoulder leaned against the window overlooking the navy yard, when Jethro took her shoulder and turned her around, nodding his head towards the Director's office. She dreaded going back up there, but she followed him all the same, her head spinning at the effort to move.

Decker was in the office this time, as well as Ducky, and Morrow was seated at his desk this time instead of at a conference table with them. Jenny didn't even attempt to look chipper or say hello. Decker's eyes were still red and Ducky looked just as exhausted as them. Jethro had his arm behind her elbow, slightly hidden, and it was all she could do not to lean into him completely. Her foot was killing her.

"Go home. Rest. Recover. I don't want to see you until you get my call," Morrow said, sounding just as deathly tired as they looked. That was all he said. He looked up at them and nodded, letting them go. Decker was the first out, making his way to the elevator atop the catwalk.

Ducky gave Jethro and Jenny a weak smile and a nod before he followed Decker. Jenny followed Jethro down the stairs instead, buying them enough time not to draw attention when they left together.

Jenny stumbled off the elevator in the direction of the NCIS cars when Jethro stopped her gently and pulled her towards the other side of the garage. He had his red pick-up; one Jenny vaguely remembered seeing when she'd driven to his house that night Diane had whacked him with a golf club.

She brushed off his attempt to help her in and swung open the door, shutting it loudly next to her. Jethro turned the key in the ignition and turned to her, his arm behind her on the seat.

"Jen? Do you want to go home?" he asked softly, stroking her hair back. She looked at him, confused, and furrowed her brows. "Jenny?"

"Boat," she mumbled in response, half-asleep. Jethro smiled against his will, assuming she meant his house. She lay down across the seat next to him and rested her head against his leg, ignoring her seatbelt. For once, he drove carefully.

She was awake when he pulled in his drive, or at least she claimed she was. She refused again to let him help her out of the truck, preferring to almost kill herself and glare at him when he yelled at her for it. The door, as usual, wasn't locked and he walked right in, slamming it behind her with a look to her back. He knew she didn't want to look weak, but when the hell was she going to realize that he didn't give a damn if she did because he knew how strong she really was?

Jenny flicked the light on and went straight to the basement, followed closely by Jethro. He stopped her at the base of the stairs and brushed past her, pulling down a bottle of bourbon and two mugs. She was by his side before he had finished pouring, her small fingers closing around one of the mugs gingerly. While he lifted his to his lips and drank, thankful for the shot, glorying in the sting in the back of his throat, she stared at hers darkly.

She leaned into his side and buried her face against him, her hands winding into his shirt. She stood next to him and wouldn't let him turn to put his arms around her, anchoring him in place with her small hands, curling her warm body into his side. Jethro closed his eyes for another inebriating shot of bourbon, digging his nails into the wood on his countertops, while Jenny cried.

* * *


	23. Aches

_Thanks to Aly!_

**

* * *

**

His muscles tensed up considerably when he had a nightmare. It was something she'd noticed; he was never vocal and never thrashed or tossed, but his eyes would move rapidly behind his lids and his entire body would go rigid. She was usually only half awake by the time he'd woken up and left and she always left him alone until he came back or she finally went looking for him.

It was different this time, though. She'd been awake anyway, unable to sleep, staring at the ceiling and going slowly and surely through the events leading up to Olivia's death, trying to find the point where they could have stopped it. She retraced her own steps and nitpicked at her mistakes. She had made too many. She listened to his steady breathing next to her, thinking, trying resolutely to fall asleep, when he gripped her shoulder painfully tight.

Surprised, Jenny Shepard sucked in her breath and pulled away, turning her head on the pillow to reprimand him before she realized he wasn't awake. She sat up hesitantly and reached for his hand, trying to pry loose his fingers. He looked distressed.

"Jethro," she whispered, abandoning her attempt to loosen his grip and leaning over to touch his shoulder. The sheets slipped around her waist and the angle sent a sharp pain shooting up from her ribs. She winced and ignored it. "Jethro!" she called louder, her brow creasing with worry.

He pulled at her, frowning in his troubled sleep, and she winced again, moving her hand up to his face.

"Jethro, you're hurting me," she said loudly, touching his cheek firmly.

He reached up and grabbed her hand, finally letting go of her shoulder, opening his eyes with a disoriented look, his breathing harsh.

"Shannon?"

He asked in a hoarse whisper, and she slipped her hand out of his grip fluidly to touch his face again, softer this time. She blinked and barely missed a beat, ignoring that he'd just called her the wrong name.

"Jenny," she corrected quietly.

"Jenny," he repeated, resting his hand on her arm and relaxing a little. He still looked at her like he had no idea where he was. Jenny sat up a little more, her heart skipping a few beats, and slipped her good arm around his shoulders, running her other through his hair.

Jethro's shoulders relaxed after a minute or two and he wrapped his hand around hers on his shoulder, leaning back into her. She could feel him trying to get his breathing in check and ran her hand down the side of his face, pressing her palm lightly on his chest. His heart was beating fast; she pulled his head back against her shoulder.

She ran her hand over his chest and down to his abdomen, feeling his hot skin. He was covered in a thin sheen of sweat and it worried her. Jenny pressed her lips against his temple, closing her eyes.

"Jen," he mumbled huskily.

"Right here, Jethro," she soothed, drawing her fingers lightly along the toned muscles of his stomach.

She didn't want to ask him about his nightmare. She never did, and he was always wise enough to stay quiet about hers, but he was always the one to wake her up and talk her back to sleep when she dreamt. He had mumbled names once or twice, but she'd never been able to discern what they were, and she didn't know who haunted his dreams. She assumed it was someone he'd lost; she knew she yelled for her father sometimes. He never once mentioned it.

Jenny touched his forehead hesitantly. His skin was hot like he had a fever, his muscles still way too tense; he was more upset than she'd ever seen him. She ran her hand lower under the sheets, trying to find away to ease the tension and make him feel her there. She talked to him quietly, murmuring in his ear.

"Easy, Jethro, just a nightmare. It's over," his stomach muscles tightened under her touch.

"No," he said hoarsely. He pushed her arm off of his shoulder and sat up slowly, his back to her, reaching down to take her hand and hold it in his, pressing it into his thigh. She watched him, pressing her lips together tightly. Slowly, Jenny drew her knees up to her and pushed her hair back with her free hand. He rubbed his face, his hand covering his eyes momentarily.

"I hurt you, Jen?" he asked quietly.

Jenny parted her lips to answer, barely even remembering him pulling her so roughly moments ago, and shook her head even though he couldn't see her. He shifted, turning to look at her, and she swallowed, unlocking her throat.

"No, Jethro," she lied.

He looked at her closely, his dark, cobalt eyes hollow. Jenny reached to the side gingerly, looking away for a split second to flick on the lamp on the bedside table. He blinked in the light, adjusting to the soft, eerie glow in the dark room, and she studied his face more closely in the sparse light. She half expected him to leave, to just walk out without another word.

Instead, he came towards her, one arm sliding delicately around her wounded middle, and pulled her close, lacing the fingers of his other hand through hers tightly and squeezing. He wanted her there, he wanted her comfort, and she relaxed a little at the realization. She leaned forward to kiss him, pressing one hand against his chest, applying gentle pressure with her fingertips as if she could soothe his heart.

Jethro pulled her under him, considerate of hurting her, his arm around her waist pulling her insistently closer. There was something desperate in the way he kissed her, driving her to give him as much of herself as she could to reassure him, even if she didn't know what was hurting him. She didn't know who _Shannon_ was, and she didn't expect him to tell her.

He kissed her throat, along her shoulder, and she gripped his arm tightly with one hand, resting the injured wrist against his neck. Hesitantly, she moved her hand down and squeezed his side, stopping him. She bit her lip and nudged him with her shoulder, indicating wordlessly that his weight was too much for her fractured ribs.

He rolled and pulled her on top of him, running a hand through her hair apologetically. Jenny kissed him while he ran his hands over her from her arms to her sensitive waist, his fingertips sinking into her skin urgently, resting at her hips, tracing the inside of her thighs. She gasped and rested her forehead against his, biting her lip again, flattening her palms on his shoulders. His hand brushed against her again and she arched her back with a small whimper, knowing he watched her reaction.

"Jethro," she murmured, threading her hands into his hair. She pressed against him, tightening her legs on either side of him, her heart fluttering with every touch of his skilled hands. She felt this shouldn't be about her; it should be about him. Making him feel, making him forget the real-life evens as well as the spectral ones that peppered his dreams, but she instinctively knew that for some reason, what he needed was to reassure himself that she was there and she was breathing.

She placed kisses down his throat and dipped her tongue into the hollow of his collarbone, gripping his shoulder tightly. He slipped his hands up her sides, running his knuckles lightly over her spine and along the curve of her breasts. Jenny took a deep breath and continued kissing slowly down his chest, massaging his knotted shoulder muscles gently as she went.

Jethro splayed one palm over the thin adhesive tape protecting her ribs, the only scrap of anything covering her. Gently, his hand found the rift where the bandage was taped down and started pulling it off slowly. Jenny pulled back from her kisses to let him unravel it, watching him carefully as he looked at the still angry bruise that marked her side. He touched her like a feather, looking upset, guilty. His blue eyes found hers in the dark and she leaned forward again, running her fingers down his face.

It was easier to move without the adhesive tape, but also easier to forget she was hurt. She pressed her finger to his lips as if to silence the apology she knew was there and reached down to take the hand he rested on her ribs, guiding it easily to her leg instead. She vehemently wished he wouldn't blame himself for her injuries, but she knew she'd never convince him it wasn't his fault. She could show him she was all right, though.

He tangled his hand tightly into her hair and pulled her mouth down on his, kissing her hard, wrapping her up. His hand slipped up her thigh again and she moved hers up his chest between them, resting it against his heartbeat. She broke away from the kiss when her lungs started to hurt and gasped for breath, licking her lips.

Languidly, she kissed his jaw and down his throat, sucking gently on his shoulder, scraping her teeth slightly along the sensitive skin to hear his intake of breath and feel the shudder of his shoulders. He pressed her hips down onto him and she fluttered her eyelashes against his neck, moaning at the feel of his hardness against her thigh. Jethro tugged her hair gently and exposed her neck to his mouth, running a heated trail of kisses down to her shoulder, slowly disentangling his hand from her thick hair.

"Jethro," she said his name again, her skin aching under his hands, lifting her head to look into his eyes, and wait for him to look back. She pulled back, drawing her hands over his chest lightly until she saw the lust flicker in his eyes and she stopped, pressing her palms into his abdomen softly.

Biting her lip, she drew his pleasing hand away from her thigh and laced her fingers through it, mimicking the action with his other hand and pinning his arms back to the bed with a placating look. He watched her, his eyes roaming the familiar paths of her body eagerly, watching her lithe movements as she moved to take him inside her. He closed his eyes and groaned, his hands squeezing hers tightly, and she smiled softly to herself as she leaned forward to kiss his lips again in a short, wet kiss, coaxing his eyes open to watch her drag her tangled hair over his chest and tickle him teasingly with it.

Jenny kept her movements slow, taking his advice for once to pace herself and take care of him, leaning forward and rocking back just as slowly with his hands grasped in hers and immobilized beside him on the bed.

"Jen," he groaned hoarsely, and it was enough to send chills down her spine, chills that made her breathing catch in her throat and her own desire for him spike just enough. She drew her hands, nails pricking him softly, up his arms to his biceps, and his free hands immediately went to her waist, running up her fevered skin with just the right amount of friction.

With a quiet moan, Jenny leaned forward to meet his kiss as he leaned up, mumbling his name desperately into his mouth and pressing herself as close to him as she could get. Jethro wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her tightly as he sat up and pulled her down onto him quickly again, satisfied by her strangled gasp and the tight grip she effected on the back of his neck.

She drew her bruised lips away and rested her head against his shoulder, small hand pulling sharply on the hair at the back of his neck as he took over and thrust in her, running his tongue along her shoulder to taste her sweat.

"Jethro," she pleaded in his ear, a breathy moan that sent his senses reeling incoherently. She cried out into his shoulder, her hands slipping down his biceps, clutching at his skin, heat in her stomach climbing. He held back until he felt the tell-tale clench of her muscles around him and pulled her thighs tight around him, his hands roaming up to cup her breasts as he quickened his slow thrusts.

Jenny scratched her nails down his back, her breathing labored as she moaned a string of words he couldn't decipher into his shoulder. At the last moment, he reached for her hair and plunged his hand into it, pulling tightly, bringing her head up to look at him so he could watch her unravel.

She parted her lips, looking at him, the small noises she made in her throat crawling under his skin and down his spine. She sucked in a sharp breath and cried out again, pulling at him, and he drew her roughly in to swallow her next cry in a kiss, shuddering against her with a groan of release that matched the intensity of hers. He spun her around, forgetting those injured ribs, and she arched under him as the climax shook them both before she could relax. In a moment she had gently rolled him back over, the way her shoulders tensed an indication that the position had hurt like hell.

Still, she didn't make a sound beyond a soft moan of satisfaction as she broke their kiss, taking a deep breath. Letting his head fall back, Jethro ran his hand up and down her spine, slowing as her breathing did, until his ministrations were a random bunch of patterns drawn lightly over her injured side, his silent request for forgiveness.

The movement of her skin under his, its heat, the musky smell of her damp hair; they all reminded him she was alive and content. Her eyes, those fathomless emerald orbs he'd watched burn and mist with arousal, weren't staring glassy and lifeless at the sky like they had in his dreams. The very eyes that had comforted him had confused him in his nightmares, where Jenny's mysterious ones had changed easily into Shannon's soft blue ones, and he couldn't tell which one he wanted.

Jenny lifted her head a little and placed a kiss to his jaw, nuzzling her cheek against his softly as she let him slide out of her, wincing slightly as she settled into his side gingerly and curled against him tightly, turning her face into his neck. She rested her hand on his chest and flexed her fingers, flattening them and drawing them up like a lazy spider lethargically, her throaty, quiet whisper in his ear lulling him back into a dreamless sleep in which his only action was to hold her closer.

"Sleep, Jethro. I'm here."

* * *

Jenny didn't know what the hour was, but it was dark in his basement. It was always dark in his basement.

She sat in the corner in the shadows, leaned against the cool wall, her head tilted to the side as she watched him work, her eyes following his slow back-and-forth moments as he sanded his boat in silence. She had woken up to find him, unsurprisingly, gone, and had followed the sounds of the hammer to find him wide awake in the basement, a mug of bourbon balanced on the beams of the boat.

It had been hours and she'd hardly spoken a word, soothed just to watch him work, happy to be left alone with her thoughts while he distanced himself and sorted through his own, the both of them glad to have the other there if just for silent support. Sometimes he stopped to look at her, sometimes in passing he'd run his hand over her cheek or touch her shoulder. In turn, she handed him the tools he needed as if she could read his mind, in sync with his movements, learning enough by watching to build a boat of her own.

She smiled softly at the thought, her eyes fluttering. As uncomfortable as the concrete floor was, and as sore as her back was from the position she was in, she didn't want to go anywhere else, except perhaps her own home. Admittedly, wanted to stumble into her house and see it again for the first time in months.

A relatively loud clattering startled her and she jumped a little, looking up with wide-eyes for the source of the disruption. Jethro peered at her through the wooden ribs of the boat, the corner of his lip turning up a little in the smallest of smirks. He held up a wrench in an explanatory way and tilted his head.

"Scare ya?" he asked.

She shook her head, giving him a mild glare. Jethro scoffed and pushed himself off the framework, trudging across the basement to his tools and bourbon, lifting the mug and taking a long draught with closed eyes. Jenny lifted an eyebrow as he drained the rest of it, slightly curious about how much he'd had now. He set the mug down and folded his arms, watching her.

"You want something to eat?" he asked considerately. The gravelly sound of his voice breaking the silence that had held for so long warmed her nerves, melting away the tenseness in her muscles.

"Sounds good," she said slowly, nodding. She couldn't even remember eating last. After they'd blindly made it home from NCIS, the rest was a blur of tears and physical comfort. She felt her cheeks flush slightly at the memory of her flood of crying and tried to shake off the annoyance tears always caused her.

"I can make something," she offered, starting to shift.

"No," he said, holding up a hand, giving her a suspicious look. She tilted her head inquiringly, pausing, and he smirked a little more. It made her feel good to see that bit of happiness shine through. "Kitchen's not fireproof."

Jenny scowled at him. He gave her a knowing look and turned to go, setting a misplaced tool back in its spot as he went. He paused on the small platform before going up, peering at her in the darkness.

"Get up, move around. I don't want you hurting later," he ordered.

Jenny rolled her eyes in the darkness, and waited until he'd disappeared at the landing to reach up and pull herself up with a small wince to a standing position. She crossed her arms under her breasts and shook her hair back, looking around the very dimly lit basement with adjusted eyes. The eerily glowing light bulb above the counters was all that provided light.

Careful of splinters or nails, Jenny padded her way barefoot over to the more lit counter, curling her toes and shivering a little. She wore only a long-sleeved, flannel shirt of Jethro's, one she might have teased him about in lighter times. Right now it was just soft, warm, and smelled deliciously like him.

Shifting her arms a little to lightly massage her wrist, Jenny peered with interest at the array of boat-building essentials, cataloguing in her head the things he used as therapy, comparing his tools and bourbon to her books and baths and the scotch she used to break into when lonely nights after her father's death got too hard. Before him and his damn bourbon.

Jenny reached out with a cold hand and ran it over the hammer and the pliers she came to next, touching the cool metal absent-mindedly, thinking in circles about nothing in particular. Her hand drifted mindlessly, tracing a circle in the dust, her initials, then falling to the drawer below, which she opened even though a niggling voice told her to back off.

Her eyebrows rising slightly, she pulled the drawer open a little more and blinked rapidly to clear her sight before taking a closer look at the heavy, pristine sniper rifle kept there. She put her hand on the gun, running her fingers over inch of it, imagining a younger Jethro behind the scope, and wondering. Something about the impersonal weapon made her heart heavy. Glancing behind her guiltily, she slid the drawer shut, moving instead to an easier to open, wooden drawer above with a tarnished silver handle.

Jenny reached up and ran her hand through her hair haphazardly as she opened the drawer, shaking her tangles down her back. She slowed her movements and slowly pulled her fingers from her hair as she eyed the contents of this drawer. It was practically empty, except for wood shavings, but the first thing that caught her eye in a glint of silver was his dog tags.

Carefully, she picked them up, looping the chain around her fingers a few times, turning the slightly battered, thin metal over in her fingers to look. Under the customary Gibbs, L.J. was his blood type, gas mask size, social security, and the emblazoned 'USMC'. Smiling, Jenny ran her finger over the indentions the lettering made and moved her hand, looking down at the other contents of the drawer.

There was an old tape and a tape player, oddly enough, a few folded and torn pieces of paper, maybe letters or notes, and one face-down photograph. In the corner of the drawer, resting next to a thick purple, ribbon, was a simple gold band and a silver ring. Smirking, Jenny ran her finger over the two remnants of a wedding, smart enough to know it wasn't Diane's. Diane was the kind of woman to keep the rock, even if it meant nothing to her. These must have belonged to his first wife.

As she was looking at the simple, pretty diamond, she noticed the thick purple ribbon wasn't random at all. Furrowing her brow as she recognized the design suddenly, from a memory of something her father had kept in his desk drawer, she picked up what she now realized was a purple heart.

Her heart jumped in her chest at the thought of him being hurt somewhere, the only reason he'd have been awarded this particular medal. She stared at it with bated breath, wondering which conflict he'd been in. She thought he was about the right age for Desert Shield or Panama, maybe even Desert Storm.

Finally taking her eyes off of the sobering medal, she looked briefly back in the drawer, tempted to look at the picture, but felt she'd done enough prying in his private life for a year, by his standards. He might kill her if he caught her.

"Jenny,"

Her heart stopped. He called her name shortly, almost harshly, sounding hoarse. He was already at her side when she started to turn, clutching the Purple Heart in her hand, forgetful of the dog tags in her other. She bit her lip, eyes going wide and sorry.

He looked at the items in her hands and glanced sharply behind her, his eyes drawn to the drawer. With another glance at her, he seemed to relax and shrugged it off, glaring at her a little more than forcefully as he reached behind her and quickly slammed the drawer shut. She ignored the loud noise and almost sighed in relief, though his reaction alarmed her a little. It was like there was something in that drawer he didn't want her to see, though she couldn't think what—unless he was planning on proposing to her with that ring.

The thought made her want to smile. He'd have to lose his mind to ask her to marry him.

She blinked as she noticed he was running his hand up her arm to the Purple Heart and taking it away from her. He set it down gently on the counter and looked at her sternly.

"I'm—"

"If you apologize, Jen, I _swear_," he let the sentence hang and she bit her lip to hide a smile.

She stayed quiet; looking at him studiously, and then spoke carefully.

"You have a purple heart," she commented softly, wrapping the arm that had held it around his waist. She found the hem of his shirt with gentle fingers and slipped under it, her hand roaming a little up his back and to the side until she found the rough, scarred patch of skin she'd never asked about. When she ran her hand over it, she lifted her eyes to meet his again.

He just nodded, leaning into her touch.

She started to touch his shoulder with her other hand, but the movement made the tags jingle and she hesitantly pulled her hand back. Jethro took her hand and squeezed it, then held his palm out for her to drop the dog tags into. He looked at them blankly for a long moment before lifting them, untangling the chain with his teeth, and effortlessly flinging them around her neck.

Jenny shivered as the cold, wet metal hit her neck. She didn't know what to say to him; it seemed like an important action.

"Is this some marine way of staking your claim?" she asked finally, leaning forward in a conspiratorial whisper.

He allowed her a smirk and snaked an arm around her thin waist, curving her body into him tightly and bending close.

"Mine," he growled for effect, dodging her mouth to nip her neck instead, the sting of his teeth good and sharp.

"Chauvinist," she mocked softly, the old tease he hadn't heard for a while now.

"Food's getting cold," he murmured into her neck, pulling back finally. Jenny smirked and gnashed her teeth at him a little playfully.

He took her arm and pulled her along with him up the stairs. She followed, her feelings mixed. The bit of light seeping into what had been a few dark days was therapeutic, it was right, but it made her feel guilty when she thought of what Decker was going through. He didn't have someone to help him through it. She felt guilty when she thought of Kasey, and how alone she must have felt.

Her mood faltering again, Jenny tried to keep her spirits where Jethro had elevated them as she followed him into his bare kitchen, looking with interest at what he'd whipped up in less than ten minutes.

"Pasta," Jenny murmured, picking up a plastic fork and twirling the spaghetti with a warm smile.

"Basement or bed?" Jethro asked gruffly, holding up a plate.

Jenny quirked an eyebrow, digging her claws into that good feeling.

"Pasta and bed are a bad combination, Jethro. I've tried it."

"With who?" he demanded instantly.

Jenny laughed softly, not her usual light giggle, but a show of merriment all the same.

"Calm down, boy," she soothed. "I was fifteen. Studying for a math test."

He grumbled at her suspiciously and continued to stare, as if expecting her to confess she'd actually tried eating spaghetti in his bed with Stan Burly. Jenny rolled her eyes and straightened up a little after a moment of the ferocious glaring, swallowing the last of her bite.

"Compromise," she suggesting, shrugging her shoulders. "Living room?"

Jethro nodded hesitantly, still standing there. He rarely spent time in his living room, unless he was in a particularly low place, consumed by bourbon and grief, intent on torturing himself with old home videos of a life that was long over. Even when he was married, he left the living room to his wives. It held so many loving memories of nights spent with Kelly and Shannon.

"Jethro?" Jenny asked, lifting an eyebrow. He looked at her at the sound of his name, staring absently. "Living room? Where is it?" she repeated.

He cleared his throat.

"Turn," he instructed, spinning his finger. She did, and he came up behind her, poking her in the back obnoxiously until she'd walked a few steps down the hall into the living room. Unlike his kitchen, it had been decorated with a touch of a woman's taste, even if it still had a ways to go. The argyle print of a throw blanket and a few cute pillows screamed Diane.

Jenny took up residence on the floor, bracing herself against the couch. Jethro started to question her sudden preference for the floor when he realized it must be easier on her ribs if she didn't sink into soft pillows and curl up, and sat down next to her.

"Jethro! You have a backyard!" Jenny informed him, smiling as she looked out the window across the room. He nudged her roughly with his shoulder and she shoved him back, crossing her legs in front of her. She started to eat, staring thoughtfully at the older model of TV in his living room.

She remained quiet, thankfully giving him his thoughts alone. He'd spent his last few nights at home before deploying for Desert Storm here, keeping Kelly up way past her bedtime playing games and spending time with her, aware of how much he'd miss her.

_Kelly, cover your eyes._

_I've seen you and Mommy kiss!_

_Yeah, but this is scary kissing…_

What had they been watching that night? He couldn't even remember. He just remembered how Shannon had gotten quiet halfway through, and how after they'd finally forced Kelly to go to sleep, she'd finally admitted she was going to miss him too much. Shannon had never cried much, but she'd cried that night, when she was sure Kelly wouldn't know and be scared.

He was thinking about them too much, being back in this house. It had been so different in Paris, on a different continent across an ocean, in a strange house where the only memories lurking were memories he'd made with Jenny in the rooms and corners. He guessed it was the first night back in this house, with a woman in his bed who was tangling his emotions up like none had managed to do _since_ Shannon, which had triggered the traumatic nightmare of last night.

"Are you okay, Jethro?" Jenny asked quietly, without even looking at him. She was still eating steadily, but she seemed sadder now, and her mouth was turned down in an etching of concern.

"Fine, Jen," he answered, and realized before he could take it back that it was sharper than he'd meant it. Jenny stayed silent, shrugging her shoulders as if to brush off his hurtful tone. Then, without another word, she uncrossed one leg and stretched it over his, resting its weight on him.

He cursed inwardly, and Jenny leaned away at the shoulder to give him space she sensed he needed. The sunshine of the mood had slipped away, but she noticed it was light outside the window.

Jenny didn't know what was bothering him suddenly, but she assumed he was dealing with the same crap she was right now, and she knew he was still bristling about the weakness he'd shown last night. She could understand. Her reaction, like his, to a threatening tone was defensive, and if he was going to pull away, so was she.

She finished her spaghetti quietly, retreating into her own thoughts. Ironically, she resorted to reciting his stupid rules in a kind of mantra inside of her head, picking out exactly the ones that might have saved Olivia.

"I'll be in the basement," he said gruffly, without warning, as he got up and left. Jenny watched him briefly and went back to her food, finishing at her own pace. She didn't worry about it, or tried not to.

When she'd had time to reign in any sharp remarks she might make if she went to see him, she got up and re-entered the kitchen, noticing he'd left his empty plate and utensil sitting on the counter. Smirking a little, she ran the water and, for the first time since she was a child and had thought it fun to help Noemi, washed the dishes.

The action felt distastefully domestic, but she knew he'd appreciate the gesture, especially if it prevented him forgetting and coming back to discover a moldy, gunk covered plate of old spaghetti.

As she dried her hands, she steeled herself for whatever mood she was going to find him in when she went into the boat sanctuary. They had yet to break down screaming at each other since their return to the States, but she could only guess they were skating thin ice. When their emotions ran high and they both got tense and upset, the fireworks tended to go off violently, and not just in passion. Anger ran as closely and as quickly as arousal between them.

Deliberately and quietly, she descended the stairs, again careful of rough spots or splinters. If there hadn't been a nice bandage around her severely scratched up foot, she wouldn't have survived a dirty trek like this, but Bethesda had bound that ankle up tighter than necessary.

With a strong sense of Déjà vu, she found him working on that damn boat again. She never minded silence with him, it was never necessary for them to make small talk and she rarely felt the insecure need to make him talk, but it was starting to annoy her that the godforsaken boat was getting more attention. He could make her talk to him with simply a word and a gently touch, and a team of wild horses couldn't yank words out of him if they dared.

Brushing off the irritation, Jenny sauntered quietly over to the workbench and picked up a sander, finding a place on the boat she could easily reach and starting a slow massage over the wood, pressing her lips together. Her movements were a little awkward, with her healing wrist and the discomfort of her ribs; eventually she started sanding lower, at waist level, so she wouldn't have to stretch her arms. She'd never put the adhesive tape back on, and she had to be cautious of her injury. At the rate she was going, between her own stubbornness and everything else, it would never heal.

Jethro scared the hell out of her coming up behind her; she hadn't even seen him stop sanding or heard him move. She felt the rumble of laughter in his chest as he wound his arms around her, placing his hands over hers around the sander and shifting them so she was sanding in slow, even motions back-and-forth.

"With the grain of the wood," he said, his breath tickling her ear. Jenny leaned back into him, the bare backs of her legs pressing against his jeans. He peeked at her over her shoulder and blew on her nose, smirking when she wrinkled it and gave him a half-hearted glare.

He didn't want her to be upset with him, or think he didn't care. He wished there was some way he could tell her there were just some things he would never mention without actually having to say the words. He had come on her in the basement looking through that drawer and hadn't known what to do for a minute, almost sure he was about to be faced with explaining Shannon and Kelly to yet another confused and upset female. But she hadn't been looking at the picture, or reading Shannon's letters. Just admiring the Purple Heart he hated so much. He didn't even know if she'd seen Shannon's engagement ring.

Slowly, Jethro released her hands and pressed his mouth against her shoulder where his shirt was sagging off of her. He absentmindedly rolled up the sleeves so they'd be off of her hands while she worked, brushing his fingers over the veins in her wrists.

Jenny relaxed, beginning to see how he could find the repetitive, easy motion of this soothing. It took enough concentration to keep the mind occupied without being difficult, though she supposed some of the other aspects of boat building were much harder. She focused on the wood, remaining quiet, until she decided that if he wasn't going to talk, she was.

"Did you talk to Will?" she asked quietly.

Jethro nodded against her shoulder, pausing before he answered.

"He's upset," he answered gruffly. "He'll make it."

Jenny chewed on the inside of her cheek. She didn't know. She had faith that Decker would stay sane, but she couldn't see how he'd recover from the loss right away. When you worked with someone so closely, and that person was the only one you knew and could trust in a foreign place, how did you manage after you lost them? She shivered.

Her hands slowing under his, Jenny slipped the sander into his capable hands and wriggled out from his grip, wandering over to the counter to top off his mug with a little more bourbon. She looked at the amber liquid balefully and took a drink, closing her eyes against the weak sting in the back of her throat. Slowly, she turned and took a seat on a stool, content again to watch Jethro work.

Jenny bit her lip and took another sip. Thinking of Olivia was making her eyes sting sharply again, and she refused to cry. She'd done enough crying already, enough to maybe scare Jethro with it.

"Olivia knew, Jethro," Jenny said quietly, her finger absently stroking the coffee mug. Jethro paused and glanced at her over his shoulder, mildly inquiring. He didn't know what she was talking about. Jenny met his eyes and gestured feebly between them. "She knew about us. In Paris, I told her it was just the cover—because she saw us on the street that one day—but," Jenny paused, swallowing a waver in her voice, "but she didn't believe me. She—she said something stupid," Jenny paused again, looking at a point over Jethro's shoulder instead of directly at him, "something about the way I looked at you."

Jenny laughed softly, a mirthless laugh. Jethro tossed the sander down on the boat wordlessly; it landed with a soft thud. She could feel him watching her intently, listening. He came towards her slowly, taking the mug of bourbon and raising it to his mouth. She flicked her eyes to him.

"She must have been so scared, Jethro," she said hoarsely, getting to the point of the matter. "She didn't have anyone. Not like I had you. I keep wondering if," she took a shaky breath, "If we'd focused more, would it have been—been different. And if she can—could—see through us,"

Jethro took a swallow of the bourbon and set it down heavily on the counter, stepping closer. He rested his hands on her bare thighs and leaned forward, looking at her closely, silencing her with his icy blue eyes. He just stared, the stare he gave people to quiet them, to convey his answer when he wouldn't speak. She closed her mouth, reaching out for him and grabbing his shirt.

"Do not," he began in a quiet, final voice, "let guilt eat you up. The blame for this is at Vance's feet, Jen. Not yours. Not Decker's. He put her in danger. He put you in danger."

"Jethro," she whispered sadly, as if she were protesting, her voice slightly desperate.

"No," he said sharply. He reached up and touched her cheek, pushing his hand back through her hair. He straightened a little and moved around her on the stool, hand sliding off of her thigh and instead moving up and around her waist as he came to stand behind her. He pulled her thick hair off of her neck and pressed his lips to the bare skin he found, raising hairs at the nape of her neck.

"If everyone else can tell from a look what's going on? What then?" she asked hoarsely.

"I don't give a damn," Jethro growled into her throat, pulling her close with his arm around her waist. "I like the way you look at me, Jen," he admitted, nudging her head back against his shoulder, kissing her neck lightly.

Jenny fluttered her eyes, biting back the tears, swallowing hard. She stared at the framework of the boat in front of her, sinking into his embrace gratefully. He undid a few simple buttons on his shirt she wore, slipping his hand inside against her skin, his mouth travelling slowly up to her jaw and her ear.

"Already told you once," he mumbled, nipping her ear a little playfully before he kissed her chastely behind it. "I love you."

Jenny's breath caught in her throat. She reached up and found his hand under the shirt, running hers tightly over his wrist. It was so much more poignant when he said it here, in the quiet of his basement, rather than in the heat of the moment when she was half-delirious in a haze of pain and he was just damn glad she was alive. It almost stopped her heart, his firm declaration; because she knew it was as hard for him as it was for her to say those three simple words.

Letting a small smile flicker across her face, Jenny reached up with her other hand to stroke his face.

"That'll be the day,"

His response was a low rumble of laughter. Jenny closed her eyes.

They stayed silent for a few moments, enjoying the quiet touch of the other and the ease of company. Jenny opened her eyes and gazed at the ceiling, wetting her lips thoughtfully after a moment. She parted her lips, but before she could speak, Jethro beat her to it.

"Homesick yet?" he murmured, and again, she was irked by the ease with which he seemed to read her thoughts. She'd been longing for a scalding hot shower, or bath, even, in her own familiar bathroom. She missed her house, her bed, her father's study. She nodded briefly by way of answer.

"Might be a good idea to check on your house," he commented mildly sarcastically. Jenny smirked, nodding again. She straightened a little; swallowing the resulting gasp of pain before Jethro could pick up on it, and shifted, turning towards him a bit.

"Let me drive the pick-up," she said, lifting an eyebrow.

Jethro looked at her warily.

"You shouldn't drive," he attempted, his hand ghosting over her ribs.

Jenny raised her eyebrow higher, until it almost touched her hairline, and he knew exactly what smart-ass comment was coming next.

"I suppose I shouldn't be having sex with you either."

"Below the belt, Jen," he muttered, his shoulders dropping a little. He'd known he lost the battle when he'd made the mistake of telling her she couldn't drive with injured ribs. Jenny tilted her head fetchingly at him and turned half of her mouth up in a smirk.

"Literally," she quipped, her green eyes darting downwards. He glared at her and she slipped off the stool. She wrapped her arms around his waist, slinging them low over his hips and pressing tight against him. "Can I drive your truck, Jethro?" she asked nicely, in a soft purr.

"Yeah," he choked out in defeat, looking tortured. Jenny smiled pleasingly and leaned forward to kiss him squarely in the chest, through his white undershirt and all. He ran his hand swiftly down her back and smiled, watching her disentangle herself and wander away towards the stairs to find her jeans and slip them on. If he were lucky, she'd keep his loose flannel shirt on. He liked it.

Jethro quietly replaced his tools and the bourbon they'd opened, leaving the basement in the dark once again for the next time he needed to ease his mind there. He followed her lead and went up the stairs, picking the pick-up's keys off of the kitchen counter and waiting for her in the hall. He didn't know why she wanted to drive, but he couldn't help thinking it was sexy.

Jenny appeared within five minutes, still in his shirt, her hair slung up in a tumbling ponytail that left tendrils of hair framing her face. He held out the keys to her and she smiled, taking them reverently. Her eyes sparkled a little, and he was glad to see it. That sparkle had been absent for a while now. He followed her out, not bothering as was usual to lock the door.

Jenny felt like getting the weight off of her mind. She was eager to get home, make sure her house was still intact, and she'd been itching to get behind the wheel of Jethro's truck since she discovered what he drove when he wasn't in a government car. Abstract as it was, she'd had a penchant for trucks since high school. There was something inertly masculine and completely I-don't-give-a-damn about them.

Jethro looked at her warily still as she slammed his truck door and turned the key in the ignition, shooting him a quick smile before she did to him what he so delighted in doing to others: she took the car from zero to fifty in sixty seconds, causing him to shout at her out of terror that she was going to harm his truck.

Jenny just smirked to herself and indicated that he should buckle up. He glared at her, clearly regretting his decision to hand her the keys. At least the drive to her Georgetown brownstone kept their minds of the past days' heavy events. Jenny giggled when Jethro groaned loudly at a risky move she made to avoid a red light and he intensified his glaring.

He resorted to deplorable tactics on the homestretch, leaning over to run his hand teasingly up the inseam of her jeans. Jenny's knuckles turned white on the steering wheel and she bit her lip, her foot twitching on the gas, letting off a little.

"Bastard," she growled.

"You were going ninety-five!"

"Hypocrite!" she accused, glaring at him as she turned onto her residential street. Jethro smirked.

"Don't want to wear her out," he said.

"Oh for God's sake. _She_ is a truck."

"She's a damn good truck!" Jethro protested. Jenny rolled her eyes, pulling into her driveway smoothly and shifting the gear into park. She took her time turning the truck off, throwing him a sultry glance, one he'd missed dearly lately. He adopted a fierce glare and pointed firmly at her door, indicating she should get out. Smug smirk still in place, Jenny removed the keys and slipped out of the driver's seat, leaning against the truck, waiting for him. He snatched the keys and glowered.

Slowly, she grinned.

"Don't tell me you didn't like every minute of that," she coaxed archly.

He braced an arm against the red truck behind her, leaning his body into hers until her spine dug uncomfortably into the truck.

"Don't make me wear you out, Jen," he growled, mock sternly, lifting an eyebrow.

"Just. Try." She challenged, letting him steal a deep kiss, fantasies of crawling into the truck bed with him filling her head.

Jethro smiled and broke away, nudging her forehead and licking his lips. She reached up and touched his cheek caressingly, turning her head towards the door of her home, noting the car in the drive she hadn't noticed next to Jethro's, one that wasn't hers.

"Noemi is here," she murmured.

"The housekeeper?" Jethro asked, glancing at the car. Jenny nodded.

"She's looking after the house," she explained in an undertone, ducking out from under his arms. Jethro thrust the car keys in his pocket and followed Jenny. At the steps, Jenny stopped and looked blankly at the door.

"Damn."

"Problem?"

"I don't have a key," Jenny muttered. Jethro snorted. She hit him lightly and then rapped firmly on her door, peeking through the side window. Barely a second later, the mahogany door opened and the same Hispanic woman Jethro had seen a few times before stood there, an uncertain smile on her face.

"Senorita?"

Jenny smiled softly.

"Hello, Noemi," she said.

"Miss Jenny, you did not tell me you were returning!" Noemi said with a cluck of disapproval, her eyes settling on Jethro as he followed Jenny in. She shut the door silently behind them and clasped her hands; her keys were in them. Jenny noticed.

"It wasn't planned," Jenny said quietly, sobering a little. "Don't stay. Thank you for checking up on the place."

"Of course," Noemi said, nodding amiably. She still looked at Jethro curiously.

"Senor Gibbs," she greeted, a little timidly. He nodded a greeting in return. Jenny laid a light hand on his arm above the elbow, clearing her throat a little so Noemi would turn back to look at her.

"Noemi," she said calmly, "Jethro is allowed in my room."

Noemi looked back at Jethro and smiled a little more warmly, nodding.

"Yes, Senorita," she said.

"Good night," Jenny said, nodding at the door. Noemi returned the wish to both of them and slipped out the door. Jenny locked the heavy wooden door behind her housekeeper and leaned against it, smiling softly at Jethro.

"What was that about?" He asked gruffly.

Jenny shrugged, blowing hair out of her face.

"As a rule I don't allow men in my room," she jerked her head a little to coax him forward and she reached up to run her hands through his hair. "But I've wanted you in my bed for a while."

Jethro smirked.

"I have that effect on people."

She smacked his chest and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down for a kiss. His hands slipped brazenly over her sides and to the front of her jeans, loosening the button and dipping beneath the waistband before she could comprehend what he was doing.

"Then again," she gasped, speaking against his lips, "the kitchen table is closer," she pushed him back and stumbled into him, tilting her head invitingly toward the kitchen.

* * *

Sated, exhausted, and clean, Jenny lay on her back in the middle of the devastated sheets of her four poster bed, tangled in her favorite fluffy white towel, her eyes closed, ignoring the persistent ache in her side and muscles. It was worth it ten times over.

The mattress dipped and a shadow fell next to her as Jethro crawled over her and lowered his mouth to her forehead. She moaned contentedly at him and squirmed when he snaked a hand up under the towel, sighing. He settled onto his side next to her, his hair and skin still partially damp from the shower, and she snuggled up to him, soaking up the warmth of his naked skin.

"Should we shut the door?" he asked in her ear.

"You expecting company?" Jenny asked, her eyes still closed restfully. He shrugged lightly, taking a liking to the idea of leaving doors wide open while they reveled in each other's company for once.

"Better hope Noemi doesn't check up on you…"

"She won't, if she knows I'm with a man," Jenny murmured, unconcerned. She turned and curled into him, opening her eyes and smiling lazily. "How's your head?" Jenny asked sympathetically.

"Throbbing," he murmured in response, dipping his head to kiss her. Jenny grinned, running her fingers down his cheek and around his head to the place at the back of his skull where he'd knocked it against the shower wall.

"Sorry," she apologized. It was her fault. She hadn't thought he'd throw his head back so forcefully or she'd have made him stand away from the wall.

"I forgive you," he answered solemnly, and she rolled her eyes, laying her head down on the bed next to his arm and yawning slightly.

"Sleep," she murmured wistfully.

"Tired?" Jethro asked smugly.

Jenny nodded, not bothering to shoot him a glare. He rubbed her back soothingly, aware that at most the both of them had, put together, fitfully and uncomfortably slept a whopping total of five hours since this began.

He liked being in her house, he decided, and he liked being in her bed. It eased some of the conflict and stress he felt being with her at his house, surrounded by all the other bad and good memories.

"Jethro," Jenny sighed into his shoulder, shifting her head, her eyes drooping sleepily.

"Mmmhmm," he grunted in response, rolling onto his stomach and wrapping his arm around her waist, draping it across her back. She cuddled closer to him, her cheek pressing against his shoulder.

"On the off chance Noemi does come in tomorrow," she murmured, half-asleep from the sound of her muffled voice, "pull the sheets over yourself," she remained quiet for a split second and he felt her smile slowly. "You'll scare her."

Jethro smirked and complied, jerking whatever bit of the bedclothes he could find around his waist and settling down next to Jenny for much-needed and hopefully dreamless sleep. He took her request as a compliment, and buried his face in her honey and spice scented hair, closing his eyes this time with much less stress and pain weighing him down.

* * *


	24. Just Partners

_A/N: Thanks to Aly! This chapter was supposed to let up on the angst a little, but I was informed by Aly that it did not. So, oops. What can I say? I like angst. _

_*It's been a bit of a wait again, I know--but I'm attempting to pace myself on this story. Which I do have the ability to do, unlike a certain fictional redhead featured here:] Oh, bad joke, I know. Point of the Author's Note: Sorry it's late; the next one may be a week or two as well, as I am on Fall Break as of today and will be on a flight to Washington, D.C. tomorrow! Enjoy the chapter!_

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* * *

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Leroy Jethro Gibbs was decidedly distracted by what his partner was wearing. He kept trying very hard not to be, just to prove he was capable of behaving like a human being and not an instinctive male animal, but he was failing miserably. Jenny hadn't seemed to notice yet; she was grumbling under her breath about something girly and useless while she half-cleaned the remnants of Noemi's breakfast, unconscious of her effect on him.

Jethro decided women were annoying.

The skirt was grey, but not a demure, boring grey, no. The kind of grey the girls in Playboy's secretary spreads wore. Her cashmere sweater was no revealing blouse but it hugged her just right and dipped just tantalizingly low enough at the neck to expose the swell of her breasts when she breathed, accentuated by a simple silver necklace with her birthstone on it. For some reason, the rich color of that royal blue top set the already attractive color of her hair on fire. In fact, Jethro was almost willing to admit the skirt wouldn't be all that distracting on anyone else, but Jenny's legs made everything look sinful and it wasn't helped when they were encased in sleek heels that accentuated her calves.

Staring at her backside as she closed a cabinet, he was beginning to resent her skirt. A lot.

"…and with my rotten luck someone will have robbed our house and taken the Maddens…dammit, I _swear_…"

He didn't know what the hell she was rambling about, but it had taken fifteen minutes of storming around upstairs for her to decided on a pair of shoes, so using his investigative skills, he figured she'd left the pair she wanted in Paris.

"All right," she sighed, turning and glancing around the kitchen. She surveyed the table and nodded, satisfied. "Noemi won't have much to do but the dishes," she murmured to herself thoughtfully.

They were expected at NCIS to be briefed by Director Morrow. It was early in the morning; Morrow hadn't been sure when he'd get a chance to meet with them because a high profile case had hit them last night, but they were reporting at the usual hour if only because they'd gotten bored and they both spent too much time on their job.

Jenny looked at him absently, chewing her lip, and he flicked his eyes to her face slowly, making sure she hadn't just caught him staring at the neckline of her sweater and debating whether he could see down it if he just leaned forward a little—

"Jethro!"

_Busted_.

Jenny arched an eyebrow at him. He tried to look innocent.

"If you stare a hole through this shirt, I will be pissed. I'm fond of it."

He glared at her, annoyed that he'd been caught in the act. She tilted her head at him, the nicely fixed curls on her shoulder bouncing. Glaring more harshly, he took a few quick steps forward and pinned her into the counter behind her, his hands anchoring her hips against his. She let out a squeak of surprise and her eyes went wide. He smirked.

"I'm _fond_ of it too," he informed her, mocking her use of words. He placed his palm against Jenny's shoulder and gently pressed her backwards, lowering his mouth to the neckline of the distracting sweater and drawing his lips along the skin it bordered. Without letting her have so much as a warning, he tightened his grip on her hips and easily lifted her up, setting her on the counter with another surprised squeal followed by a soft _thunk_ as her head hit a cabinet.

"Jesus, Jethro, that hurt," she snapped.

His response was to start sliding that satanic skirt up her thighs. She gasped and actually caught him off guard when her hand firmly yanked it back down, their hands colliding, stopping in between them as they both tried to force her skirt in an opposite direction.

He looked up and glared at her. She glared pointedly right back.

"Noemi is _upstairs_," she hissed, her other hand touching the back of her head gingerly. He felt fleetingly sorry for hurting her, considering she was already a little fragile. He paused, made a show of glancing upwards to her ceiling and pretending to listen, and then looked back at her, shrugging. He tried to bypass her restraining hand and force the skirt up, but she was stronger than she looked.

"_Behave_ yourself, you Neanderthal," she ordered.

"Jen," he said tightly, growling at her, "unless you want me losing it and dragging you onto my desk at work—that's in the middle of the bullpen—I suggest you participate."

She glared at him in disbelief.

"Noemi!" she hissed forcefully.

"No," he corrected shortly, "Jethro."

He pulled her long legs around his waist and held her tight, applying enough teasing pressure to finally make her breath hitch shakily. With a wicked grin reminiscent of hers, he reached up with one hand and covered her mouth, slipping his thumb in between her teeth and taking quick, muffled revenge on that skirt.

Claiming he'd messed up her hair, Jenny forced him to let her drive the pick-up to NCIS, pretending not to speak to him for about half the ride. Periodically she reached up to touch the curls that had become a little wild since he'd tangled his hand in her hair, but the action only served to feed the arrogant smirk on his face. She might think her hair was messed up, but from his vantage point it bore his mark and that made it look damn good.

She had it pulled back halfway and tumbling over her shoulders the rest of the way, curling at the edge of her shoulders against her creamy skin. The flush on her was starting to fade, and he wished it would stay.

As Jenny expertly parked his truck in the NCIS garage, she tucked the keys into her pocket and hopped out, moving more fluidly than she had been lately. Jethro knew she was stubbornly ignoring her 'rest and recover' order from Bethesda, and he was beginning to think she'd pushed through the pain enough to numb herself to it. He had just leaned forward to catch a glimpse of her ass in that skirt again when she threw open his door and stood there, a glitter of the wicked in her eyes.

"Jen," he greeted suspiciously.

She stepped up into the truck and straddled his lap, just like that, in the middle of the NCIS parking garage, where anyone could walk past at any moment with the door wide open. He swallowed, unsure if this was good for him or not. Pouting her lips, she leaned forward and ran her nails down his chest, pressing teasingly through his shirt and just barely brushing her lips against his neck, enough to make him shudder.

Shifting back on his lap a little, so he felt the thin lace of her panties that separated them, reminding him of how much he loved skirts, she innocently worked the button of his jeans through and insinuated her hand beneath the cotton of his boxers. Jethro pressed his head back into the headrest and hissed, his muscles clenching. She smiled, teasing slowly and wantonly with that indecipherable smile on her face until he was bucking against her, murmuring her name.

Withdrawing her hand, even in the face of his desperate glare, she patted his chest condescendingly and ran her hands down his thighs as she gingerly got off of him and slid out of the truck, leaning against the side with a triumphant look.

"The next time I tell you to keep it in your pants," she said dangerously, "_listen_."

He gaped at her, trying to look angry, aching in his jeans. Jenny's pretty eyes flicked down his chest and roamed his thighs knowingly; she tilted her head fetchingly and looked back up at him with a smirk.

"I think I'll leave you to take care of that yourself," she decided airily, giving him a sweet smile as she slammed the door and locked him in. Obviously, he could just unlock the doors from the inside, but her point in locking the door was showing him she held the power.

Jenny tossed the keys up and caught them with a smile as she walked away, her heels clicking against the pavement. She touched her hair again and brushed her skirt carefully, making sure her appearance was in order before she entered the elevator for the squad room, laughing softly to herself as she leaned against the back wall and thought of Jethro, poor Jethro.

It wasn't that she hadn't enjoyed the tryst in the kitchen—she had. She knew he liked the skirt, and she knew the sweater would set him off. What she hadn't enjoyed was his decision to act on his arousal when Noemi was upstairs and they were in the middle of the kitchen; as discreet as Noemi was, Jenny could have done without her appearing while she and Jethro were still trying to right themselves.

And it was his fault, so he was being punished.

Jenny stepped out onto the main floor, breathing in deeply as she looked around at the familiar NCIS squad room. It felt odd to be here, arriving as if for a work day, when she'd spent do much time in the informal setting of the Paris safe house. The bustle of casework and agents running for things was almost comical now that she wasn't doing it.

A young, timid looking probie skidded to a stop in front of her, avoiding hitting her, and shot her a terrified look, stammering a weak apology and darting off around her. She smirked. She wasn't the new kid on the block anymore, and judging by that Probie's reaction, someone had warned against her. It made her feel warm.

"Hey, Jenny!" Pacci's head popped over the bullpen wall and he stood up, beaming at her, ever happy. Jenny smiled and made her way over to his desk, shaking the hand he held out, in a much better mood and state of mind this time then she had been when she'd seen him that first harrowing day back.

"Did you bring Jethro with you?" he asked happily.

"Nope. Got sick of him and poisoned his coffee."

"Ah," Pacci said knowingly. "What about the body?"

"Easy. I burned it with his boat," she answered, and Pacci let out a barking laugh, clapping her shoulder.

"Shepard, you're the best thing to happen to that grouch since the Stone Age!"

Jenny gave a lofty smirk.

"I know," she shrugged playfully, and then lowered her voice. "How have you been, Chris?"

"Pretty damn good. It's been pretty boring around here without Jethro storming around. No one's upset the press, the FBI loves us, and all of our senators are free of bullet holes,"

Jenny laughed again as Pacci stopped, her eyes brightening. She didn't realize she'd missed being around these people while she was sequestered with Jethro and Ducky in Paris. Pacci, and even Stan, provided a sort of comic relief, which she needed. She was still trying to hard not to dwell, to move forward.

"And without me?" Jenny asked, lifting an eyebrow challengingly.

Pacci leaned forward with a smirk.

"Everyone's still got their testicles."

Jenny grinned. If Pacci was telling stories like that, she understood why the geeky probie had skittered away from her in terror. Pacci just chuckled to himself and then suddenly waved his arm out, looking at Jenny a little more seriously.

"Someone new for you to meet, Jenny," he said, as a very young woman, straight out of college, it looked like, appeared at Pacci's beckoning and eyed Jenny with interest.

"New probationary agent on my team. Cassie Yates," Pacci said, as Cassie held out her hand. "Cass, Jenny Shepard."

"Agent Yates."

"Cassie. The Jenny Shepard who threw a specimen jar full of, er,--"

"Urine," prompted Pacci with a grin.

"—right. At Burly?"

Jenny promptly punched Pacci with her free hand for telling that story.

"I dropped it. At a projected angle," she answered as she shook Cassie's hand.

"Nice to meet you," Cassie said brightly, and Jenny returned the greeting. The other woman was slim, petite, and had long, sleek black hair that complemented dark olive skin. She was very pretty.

"So what did you really do with old Jethro, Jenny?" Pacci asked, leaning against the edge of his desk. Cassie Yates folded her arms fluidly.

Jenny just gave a slight smile; right on cue as the ding of the elevator sounded and Jethro arrived. He had taken a bit longer than expected, and the reason became apparent when he stalked up beside her with two steaming coffee cups in his hand, a steel glare etched on his face. Cassie Yates widened her eyes. Jethro just glared viciously and silently at Jethro.

"Good morning," she finally said sweetly.

"What did she do?" Pacci asked jovially, as Cassie turned to Jenny and asked quietly, in awe "What did you do?!" at the same time.

"Nothing," Jenny answered lightly, in tandem with Jethro's throaty growl of "Nothing".

After a split second more of rude glowering, Jethro handed Jenny a cup of coffee and leaned back away from her, giving her a little space.

"Truce," he offered through gritted teeth.

"Truce," she repeated solemnly, toasting him. She lifted the coffee lid and took a deep whiff of the coffee, giving him a quick smile of thanks. He took a drink of his own and smirked into his cup; the way to Jenny's heart was a cup of Jamaican blend, add caramel syrup, add shot of espresso, light whipped cream.

Pacci watched the silent exchange delightedly. Cassie, still in the stage of constant observation, just looked interested, and possibly scared.

"She new?" Jethro asked gruffly, taking notice of Cassie Yates. Pacci smiled and nodded, opening his mouth to introduce his probie, Pacci was interrupted before he could.

Channeling Mike Franks, Jethro grumbled:

"Is assigning women to everyone some kind of social experiment?"

Pacci snorted. Surprised by the comment, Jenny gave him an outraged look and then struck him forcefully in the shoulder, glaring. Pacci whistled, while Jenny's actions drew a smile from Cassie.

"The student has become the teacher," Pacci commented, taking note of Jenny's glare and shaking his head. Beaming with the praise, Jenny jerked her head to the side and took a sip of her coffee, her eyes alighting on Cassie.

"I'll introduce you to the M.E., Cassie," she said nicely, "he's delighted they're letting women in."

She shot another glare at Jethro just for good measure, filing away some ideas to get back at him later; a few involving public embarrassment and another few involving a few nights on the floor.

Cassie hurried after Jenny with a glance at Pacci and Jethro and fell into step behind her, stopping when Jenny paused at the entrance to her and Jethro's section and narrowed her eyes. Stan Burly hadn't yet noticed he'd been caught sitting with his feet up on Jethro's desk and a walkman placed squarely in his ears. Jenny smiled sweetly and turned, folding her arms and tilting her head.

He spotted her after a moment and leapt in his seat, scrambling up as silently as possible and yanking the headphones out of his ears. He shook his head vehemently, hissing her name as she flicked her eyes towards Gibbs.

"No!" Stan pleaded.

"Jethro. Burly is sitting in your chair."

"No one likes a tattle-tale, Jen," Jethro returned from his place, and Stan had the nerve to smirk mockingly and smile at her arrogantly. Jenny waited patiently as Stan straightened primly and started to go back to listening to his radio. He was just leaning back when Jethro leaned casually over the back of the bullpen and thumped him in the back of the head.

Stan yelped; Cassie Yates gasped. Jenny smiled and nodded at Jethro, turning back to Cassie and indicating they should move. Cassie glanced back over her shoulder as Jenny took a sip of the coffee Gibbs had brought her, heading for the break room.

"You work under Gibbs?" Cassie asked hesitantly.

Jenny almost burst out laughing at the sheer irony of Cassie Yates' question. She managed to muffle the quiet snort that did escape in her coffee cup before she answered:

"I work _with_ him," she corrected, letting Cassie enter the break room first so she could see her better. "I'm not his probie."

Cassie nodded, leaning against a vending machine as Jenny stood in front of it, trying to decide between chocolate and a protein bar. Jenny glanced at Cassie and smiled, positive her thoughts were filled with scary stories about the legendary Leroy Jethro Gibbs.

"He seems hard to work with," Cassie said mildly.

Jenny shrugged.

"Compared to Pacci, yeah, he's a hard ass," she said, finally opting for the deceptively healthy protein bar, "You've just got to know how to manipulate him."

"You do, I guess?" Cassie asked, smiling. Jenny returned the knowing grin and nodded, thrusting out her foot and kicking the machine. On cue, a bar of chocolate fell from the top faulty shelf and she grabbed it out for Cassie.

"A word of advice," Jenny said easily, tilting her head toward the door and opening her food slowly. Cassie started following again, keeping up. "If any of these chauvinists try to give you crap, just learn to bat your eyelashes and threaten castration."

Cassie laughed, and Jenny warmed to her. She could tell Agent Yates wasn't the uptight, no-nonsense type, and that's the kind of women NCIS needed more of. The halls had cleared a little as everyone arrived and took up at their desks. Jenny spotted Jethro still conversing with Pacci, though they'd taken it to Jethro's desk and reduced Stan to a jumpy figure in the corner.

"Who's the M.E.?" Cassie asked, and Jenny remembered that's where she was taking Cassie in the first place.

"Donald Mallard—"

"You're kidding."

"—dead serious. We call him Ducky."

Cassie grinned and Jenny shrugged, approaching the elevator with her attention focused on the protein bar in front of her. She avoided a lawyer flying by with a stack of paperwork without looking and bid the elevator door open, staring straight at the doors as they closed.

"Seen an autopsy yet, Cassie?" she asked casually.

"I started a few days ago," Cassie answered, in the negative. She paused. "Autopsy?"

Jenny smirked. She liked Cassie, but she didn't see the harm in messing with even the decent probies _just_ a little. She could use the fun, after these last few days.

* * *

"I almost forgot—Gibbs?"

Chris Pacci broke off mid-sentence, leaning over the wall behind Gibbs' desk and pausing when he looked at his friend's computer. Gibbs turned and looked at him, waiting.

"You're checking your e-mail," Pacci said.

"Ya think?"

"Do you even know what e-mail is?"

"Electronic post," Gibbs responded sarcastically. Pacci looked up with a small grin at Shepard, who just snorted and shrugged her shoulders, busy reading through something on her own computer. She glanced, amused, at Pacci and Jethro.

"You got something to say, Chris?" Gibbs asked, turning back to his computer.

"Right. Almost forgot," he started again, shifting and holding over the bullpen wall a wrapped cigar with a lopsided grin on his face. "Fornell's been around. Wanted to make sure you got this."

Gibbs looked blankly at the cigar Pacci offered. Jenny peeked up around her computer and furrowed her brow slightly. She typed something ambiguously, watching. Gibbs just glared at Pacci, demanding an explanation.

"This goes with it, but the date's passed," Pacci muttered, handing over something frilly and white, "The two are coming a little close on each other's heels if you ask me—"

"Nobody did," growled Gibbs, taking both of the items and looking at one. He squinted slightly at the starched paper, glaring narrowly at it. Jenny arched her neck a little trying to see. It didn't take long for her to figure out what it was, and then everything else clicked into place.

She sat back in her chair with a cackle of laughter, quickly trying to muffle it when Jethro turned and shot her a scowl. Pacci looked up at her and grinned. Jenny got up casually and sauntered over, snatching the wedding invitation with two fingers from Jethro. She smirked at him and cleared her throat.

"You are cordially invited to the wedding of Tobias Fornell and Diane Kathryn Bell, nineteenth October, nineteen—Jethro, wasn't your anniversary the eighteenth?" Jenny broke off, lifting an eyebrow gleefully.

He didn't bother to ask how the hell she knew when his and Diane's anniversary had been, but Pacci hadn't known, and dropped his mouth open disbelievingly.

"Damn, Jethro," he whistled, "Vindictive woman."

"Isn't she?" Jenny asked brightly, carefully splitting the invitation in two and dropping it loftily into the waste bin. She tilted her head with interest at the neatly wrapped cigar in Jethro's hands and clicked her tongue. "Shotgun wedding?" she asked.

"Who knows," Pacci shrugged. "Got a message for you, too, Jethro," he added, leaning away from the edge of the bullpen a little. "Tobias says marrying your ex-wife should be overlooked considering he took the alimony off your hands."

"There a reason Tobias couldn't tell me all this himself?" growled Gibbs, still glaring at the cigar and trying to ignore Jenny at the same time. Pacci snorted.

"He's not allowed to communicate with you. Her orders," Pacci finally drew a smirk from Jethro, and shouted back as he scurried off to answer his phone, "Did I forget to mention he's whipped?"

Jethro snorted half-heartedly and glared moodily at the cigar again. Jenny put her hand on his desk and perched on the edge of it, cocking her head at the object good-naturedly.

"If you smoke that, I won't touch you for a week," she informed him mildly. He dropped it immediately into the waste bin with his ex-wife and FBI comrade's wedding invitation. "If its any comfort, he only knocked her up to one-up you," Jenny offered.

She sensed Jethro was a little more than caught off guard by the news. He seemed upset, though he wasn't showing it. She was just particularly intuitive when it came to his moods, and she was mildly curious as to why the information bothered him so much. Smiling, she shot her foot out to kick his calf lightly and smiled, her eyes sparkling.

"Let's call child services on her," Jenny suggested wickedly. Jethro smirked and rested his hand on her thigh lightly, moving his thumb in circles. Jenny raised an eyebrow, discreetly checking the area. They were the only ones in this section, but everyone else was openly bustling around.

"Scandalous," she hissed playfully at him.

She lapsed into silence with him and looked around, her eye catching movement on the catwalk. Ducky had just left the director's office, dressed rather smartly for the afternoon, and started to make his way down the stairs. She smiled warmly at him when he caught her eye. He disappeared behind a bullpen wall and Jenny looked away.

"Ducky's dressed like James Bond," she informed Jethro.

"He's got a date," Jethro returned, now trying to see how far he could inch her skirt up using only his thumb before she noticed. She glared at him.

"Is it a romantic date?"

"He's taking her to an art exhibit," Jethro muttered, shrugging. "Didn't ask."

Jenny rolled her eyes. _Men_. She bit her lip and watched Jethro slowly inch the skirt up her leg a little further, convinced he was getting away with something. Thoughtfully, she tried to decide how to respond to his tease when Ducky appeared much closer to them around the corner, beaming.

Next to him stood his date. She was young, brown-eyed, slightly freckled, and red-headed with a sort of nervous look on her face. She looked nice enough, but Jenny couldn't help narrow her eyes a little as she felt Jethro discreetly lay his hand on his desk and stop moving it, looking up at the pair. The woman was way too young for Ducky; she hadn't pegged him for the cradle-robbing type.

"Agent Decker has been with the Director for about an hour," he informed, nodding towards the catwalk, "the two of you are next, I believe. Ah," he held out his hand, indicating his friend warmly, and Jenny looked at her calculatingly, quite aware that Jethro was looking at her too.

"Jennifer, Jethro, this is a very good friend of mine, Stephanie Flynn. Stephanie, Jethro Gibbs and his partner, Jenny Shepard."

Jenny stayed silent when Stephanie Flynn made eye contact with her, sizing the other woman up. She was attractive, sweet looking, and had already given Jethro a small smile and a good look while Ducky was talking.

Jethro nodded silently to her, and Jenny said a soft hello, still watching closely. Her mouth turning up in a small smirk, she watched Jethro's eyes roam. Stephanie smiled nicely.

"Ducky mentions the two of you a lot," she admitted. Jethro snorted.

"I suppose we'd better be off," Ducky said, and Stephanie nodded, saying goodbye politely as they left.

"Have fun," Jenny wished, arching an eyebrow. The other redhead glanced back as she and Ducky walked away, watching as Jenny turned her green eyes on Jethro and let creep a slow smile over her face as she touched his cheek deceptively nicely. Jenny waited until Stephanie had disappeared behind elevator doors…

…and smacked Jethro in the back of the head.

"_Ow_," he protested pointedly, glaring at her coldly.

"You checked her out!" Jenny accused, lifting an eyebrow higher. "Damn, Jethro, and I was sitting right _here_. I guess they weren't kidding when they said you were a sucker for a redhead,"

"Come one, Jen," he snorted, blowing her off disbelievingly. "Didn't take you for the jealous type," he added. She drew a nail lightly down his cheek.

"I don't like sharing," she informed him in a low voice, patting his cheek patronizingly. "I bet you didn't even catch her name. You were too busy eyeing those pretty doe-eyes."

"Samantha," Jethro grunted, and she could tell by the glint in his eye he was joking, and smiled, shaking her head a little. "She'd be a cheap replacement for you, Jen," he said with a shrug.

"That was mean," she said solemnly, a smile playing at her lips. She glowed in the compliment.

"Ducky likes them young," she whistled with a smirk.

"They're just friends," Jethro said, rolling his eyes at her. She smirked.

"In the sense that we're 'just partners'?" she sassed. He leaned back in his chair and grinned at her. She smirked again and pressed her pointed heel against his knee, laughing when he grabbed her foot and held it captive. She shot out her other foot and knocked his hand away, engaging him in a battle that lasted until his phone rang on the desk.

"Shepard," she answered lightly, smiling at him.

"I want you and Gibbs in my office in five minutes," Morrow said gruffly, wasting no time. Jenny nodded, then remembered he couldn't see her and sobered her voice a little, answering affirmatively as she hung up.

"Director?" Jethro asked, and she nodded, pointing towards the catwalk. He stood, returning her foot to her, and she hopped off of his desk, snatching his half-empty coffee cup for herself as she followed him. In Charlene's office, they met Decker as he was exiting the office, looking exhausted and pale. Jenny's good mood faded considerably, facing the tangible reminder of tragedy.

Jethro looked at her briefly, sensed the change, and went straight into the office, leaving Jenny standing in front of Decker. She smiled softly and reached out, touching his shoulder comfortingly. He smiled tiredly at her and nodded, relaxing under the warm touch. She made eye contact with him, trying to convey some strength.

"Agent Shepard," Morrow called gently, and she turned her head, squeezing Will's shoulder and brushing past into the office, shutting the door out of habit behind her. Morrow gestured to a chair directly in front of his desk that Jethro was not occupying and she sat down, but not before she gave an investigative glance to a man sitting on his couch watching observantly.

He was middle-aged, though on the young side, with hair that was speckling and a sharp eye. He was of athletic build, quiet, and had a stern air about him. Jenny met his eyes and he gave the smallest of nods to her. She just looked at him carefully, judging, and sat down, her back to him and facing Morrow. She would figure him out later.

"I'm not going to waste time," Morrow began in a mutter, his hand at his chin. He leaned forward purposefully. "We've spent a fair amount of the day on conference with Agent Vance in MTAC. Things have been," he paused, fumbling for a euphemism, "figured out."

Jethro nodded shortly. Jenny just watched Morrow, getting the sudden, intuitive feeling that she was being closely watched, and she couldn't turn around to look.

"The two of you are going back to Paris," Morrow began again slowly, "alone. Doctor Mallard will be here, and Agent Decker will be working on a different project that connects with yours," that slow pause again, "elsewhere."

"And our," Gibbs paused, "_project_?" he asked, coating the last word in irony.

In a quick, decisive motion, the Director dropped two files onto the edge of the desk, leaning back in his seat as he did so and waving his hand absently. Jethro reached out and took the files slowly, opening one and reading it casually. Jenny turned slightly to look at him, and watched as he squinted minutely, then shut the file quietly and looked up at Morrow with a blank look. Jenny furrowed her brow slightly, but Jethro didn't look at her.

"Finish it," Morrow said finally to Jethro, lifting his shoulders as if it were all he could say. He turned to Jenny and looked at her closely, leaning forward a little. "Have you seen a psychiatrist, Jenny?" he asked casually.

Without batting an eyelid, Jenny gave a small nod. In response, she thought she saw the ghost of a smile on Morrow's lips; he probably knew, without a doubt, that she was lying through her teeth.

"Things will be a little different this time," Morro started, leaning up and folding his arms on the desk. "You're covers haven't been terminated."

Jenny tilted her head, listening. Their covers were all but blown, and the intricate web of bad men would have a sharp eye on flights or anything that had their covers' mark. It seemed like a bad idea not to terminate the old and devise new ones.

"You're actually flying commercial into Charles de Gaulle tonight," Morrow continued, smiling a little, "_technically_ speaking. At least that's what the records show. In reality, you'll be landing at a private airfield outside of Calais tomorrow. It provides a bit of a drive back to the safe house, but I'm sure you can manage enough small talk to pass the time," Jenny laughed quietly under her breath at the irony, and Morrow afforded her a fleeting smirk. "Agent Vance is working a little misinformation. You'll meet tomorrow afternoon at Potomac airfield with a pilot and Agent Decker, that's all. Clear?"

Jenny and Jethro both nodded shortly, seeing no reason to argue when it wouldn't matter a bit. Director Morrow stood and leant across his desk, nodding tiredly. Jethro stood first, followed slowly by Jenny as he tucked the files under his arms.

"Good luck," Morrow murmured, and looked at them pointedly, meaningfully. "Take care of yourselves. Please."

They pushed their chairs back a little, moving away from the desk. The man who'd listened to the entire conversation was standing and straightening himself as they turned, his focused eyes sharp. He nodded cordially to Jethro.

"Sir," Jethro greeted gruffly, and Jenny's eyebrows twitched up in mild surprise. So Jethro knew the man, and evidently held a lot of respect for him. Jethro started to go, and Jenny followed suit, pausing as he fumbled with the door.

"Shepard, a word," Morrow said mildly, calling her back. She fleetingly met Jethro's eyes and halted, watching him leave. He shut the door quietly and she turned around, facing Morrow and the unknown observer silently, her expression guarded. She didn't know if she was in trouble; she suddenly had the irrational fear they were assigning her to a different team.

"Special Agent Jennifer Shepard," Director Morrow began formally, "The Secretary of the Navy."

Jenny was careful not to show her surprise at being introduced, face-to-face, to SecNav himself. She shook his hand firmly, greeting him confidently, still suspicious of the entire situation.

"Agent Shepard," he greeted, his voice deep and authoritative. She was immediately impressed that he didn't refer to her as 'miss'. He seemed to be sizing her up, his eyes calculating. She refused to quail under his gaze. "This is the agent who provided the Intel that stonewalled the Czech arms deal?" SecNav asked, still looking intently at Jenny but speaking to Morrow.

"Yes, sir. She's also the agent who smoothed over Doctor Mallard's faux pas with the French authorities without so much as a glitch."

Jenny couldn't help it. She smiled, just slightly. SecNav smiled back.

"I'll be damned," he said good-naturedly. "Seems we should have let women in sooner. I've read the reports on you, Agent Shepard," SecNav said seriously, "I'm impressed."

"Sir," Jenny said demurely, by way of thanks. He nodded, eyeing her thoughtfully.

"I'll be watching your career," he informed her mildly, inclining his head as he lifted a navy issue pea coat off of the back of a conference chair. "Goodnight, Tom," he said cordially, nodding to the Director. "Shepard," he added with another nod, and she returned it, turning a little to watch him leave.

She glanced back at Morrow, her arms folded across her chest. His lips turned up at one corner slightly and he smiled at her, the look in his eye telling her she'd just received the highest praise. Jenny couldn't return the smile. She kept her eyes on his, but blank, thoughtful.

SecNav's words, his hints that she was going to be thrown in the way of promotions, rekindled her ambition—ambition that never, ever really went away. They planted a seed of distress in the back of her mind that quietly whispered to her.

She was reminded, acutely, of the carefully constructed plan she'd joined NCIS with in the first place, a plan that didn't leave much room for romantic flexibility.

* * *


	25. Hide and Seek

_A/N: Thanks to Aly, as usual! Quicker update this time! :] Here's the catch: I'm updating this from the Birmingham airport, which is special. You get this chapter, but there will most likely be a stretch between this and the next chapter. It is nearing the end, and I'm trying to catch up on writing so I can start posting the third part right away. I'm off to catch a plane; Enjoy!_

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The flight was silent, and the lights were dim. It was, as Jenny had remarked under her breath, a 'hell of a private jet'. It was small, relatively comfortable, and furnished with a few nice leather chairs, bolted down tables, and a small room separate from the main area. They'd been on the plane for about five hours now, with two more to go before they landed in Calais. It was dark outside, wherever they were now, and Leroy Jethro Gibbs was watching his partner from a chair opposite her.

Jenny had a small lamp flipped on and was sitting in her chair comfortably, her legs crossed, and her shoulders relaxed back into the leather. She'd put away her well-worn copy of a favorite novel about half an hour ago and pulled out a magazine, which she was currently reading rather intently—or appeared to be.

She kept flicking her eyes up at him every so often and either smirking, lifting an eyebrow, or laughing quietly. She'd asked him what his birthstone was a few minutes ago, mildly, without explaining why. It was because of that damn magazine. She was reading _Cosmopolitan_ to entertain herself.

He'd resorted to glaring firmly at her, after closely reading the titles of the articles the magazine advertised and deciding she was torturing him.

"Jethro," she asked lightly, turning a page in the magazine slowly. He grunted at her. "What's your sign?"

"Virgo," he answered suspiciously.

She fell silent, and after a moment, performed her increasingly annoying glance through the eyelashes at him and smirked.

"Is there something you'd like to share, Jen?" he growled pointedly.

"No," she answered sweetly, shrugging her shoulders. She returned to reading her magazine non-chalantly.

He glared at her bent head moodily. He had lost his fascination with watching her read when she'd switched from the book to the magazine. Decker was closed off in the room behind them; either sleeping or brooding, he didn't now. Jenny had spent some time talking quietly with him at first, but Decker was just a little too shutdown right now to indulge her.

Jenny flicked her eyes up at him again and watched him over the edge of her magazine, finally tilting her head fetchingly to the side and closing it. She set it down on the table next to her with the lamp and reached up to her hair, pulling it gently out of its ponytail and shaking it haphazardly over her shoulders.

She scooted forward in her chair and glanced behind him to the back of the plane, standing up and stretching gracefully. Jethro watched her muscles flex as she did, taking note of the fact that she didn't hold herself as gingerly anymore. Her ribs were starting to heal.

She walked across the small area in front of her and sat down in the seat next to his, lifting up the arm rest resolutely and cuddling up to his side. She rested her cheek on his shoulder and smiled. He put his hand on the back of her head suspiciously, running his fingers carefully through her hair.

She ran her wandering hand from his shoulder down his chest to the button on his jeans, running her fingers over the button lightly. She worked it undone as nonchalantly as if she were tying a tie for him and toyed with the zipper, dragging it up and down, dangerously, in his opinion. It was making him nervous.

"Jen," he warned, and she left the zipper undone, slipping her hand under his shirt and drawing her manicured nails along the skin on his abdomen teasingly. She crossed her legs and pressed her leg into his, running the tip of her close-toed heel up and down the back of his shin lightly.

Through his shirt, she kissed his chest, holding her lips against the material lingeringly so he could feel her warmth. Distracted, he looked straight ahead at the locked pilot's door and tried to make his mind work. She pressed her hand against his abdomen and slipped it lower, sending shivers up his spine.

"I read my training file, Jethro," she said casually, while she introduced him to the sensation her filed and perfected nails could create. He tried to focus on what she was saying to keep quiet. Training file? What was that?

"Most of it pissed me off," she admitted, sounding lightly amused, and he smirked. "Then I noticed it said I'd passed my autopsy sit-through," she brushed her lips against his neck, placing light kisses against his carotid artery.

"Yeah," he growled, running his fingers through her hair roughly and pulling it, tilting his head back against the seat and lifting his eyes heavenward. Her voice was enough to drive him crazy, particularly when she was playing coy.

"You lied," she whispered in his ear wickedly, slowing the motion of her hand to a torturous crawl, as if taunting an animal. She scraped her teeth along his ear gently. "What made you do it, Jethro?"

"Jen," he whined, moaning quietly in the back of his throat at her. She smirked and shifted her hand, listening to his change in breathing, wrapping the foot pressing against his shin around his leg and pressing closer, wincing as he jerked at her hair.

"Tell me," she demanded, slowing her hand again.

He closed his eyes. How the hell was he supposed to remember _that_ while she had her hand below his belt when he could barely remember how to breathe?

"You were pretty," he tried in a mumble. Jenny snorted and he knew she was raising an expectant eyebrow. She knew he'd never give someone a break just for their looks. He scowled at the ceiling and tried to string his thoughts together, a difficult feat at the moment in time.

"Instinct," he choked out finally, under her warning hand, "you were better than," he sucked in his breath sharply and she grinned against his neck, nuzzling her nose against him and wrinkling it like a bunny, "better than that mark on your record."

Jenny hummed thoughtfully, slowly picking up the pace of her hand again. She kissed him chastely under his ear and squeezed her leg around his like a hug; he felt her nod with satisfaction. It was probably complete bullshit, now that he sort of thought about it. He probably had passed her on autopsy because he wanted to see her naked. He grinned at the thought; he'd never say that out loud.

Jenny's ministrations slowed and she trailed her hand upwards until she reached his abdomen again. He opened his eyes and pulled her hair in protest, drawing a squeal from her.

"Jen!" he protested, growling. Jenny laughed softly and reached up to touch his face, tilting his head down closer. She put her mouth close to his ear, so her lips touched it as she spoke.

"Ever had sex on a plane?"

He nodded. Jenny lifted an eyebrow and tilted her head, running her leg up his seductively.

"I haven't," she invited quietly.

He nearly dragged her out of her seat. She stifled another surprised squeal and grabbed his shirt collar, laughing silently as she pulled him towards the leather couch with her and tumbled down on it with him. His hand went straight for the button on her beige slacks and she tilted her head up for a kiss, watching over his shoulder fleetingly.

"The pilot," she warned.

"Decker," he mumbled back, pointing out the second way in which they could be caught.

She squeezed his shoulder and slipped her arms to his side, wrapping one leg around his waist. There was something about the knowledge that they could be caught in seconds that made this that much better. She kept her mouth against his the whole time, keeping as quiet as possible, stopping only to gasp a quick breath and kiss him again.

When she sat on the floor leaning against the couch a few minutes later, with Jethro rubbing one of her shoulders firmly in a massage, she tilted her head back against his side and closed her eyes, suddenly tired. All the sleepless nights and minimal shut-eye was finally catching up with her, it seemed. Jethro stretched out on the couch, his legs crossed at the ankle, staring up at the ceiling of the plane himself.

Jenny considered asking about their mission, but Jethro had already said most of it was Leon Vance's problem. They were just there for back up, or lookout, whichever he needed. It seemed odd to Jenny, that they were going back just to sit and watch, but Jethro had said they'd be given something new next.

She was rubbing her wrist at the pulse point absentmindedly when she heard the click of a door opening and peeked open one eye. Decker had finally emerged from the room at the back, looking a little better and a little less pale than earlier. Maybe he'd finally gotten some sleep, or maybe he'd finally had enough time to come to terms with what had happened. Jenny gave him a small smile as she opened the other eye and he returned it.

She wondered vaguely without worrying about it what they looked like to him, she sitting with her head at Jethro's side and his hand on her shoulder. It didn't bother her much because she knew partners got close, especially when in close quarters together for a long time. Sometimes as close as family, though she and Jethro had developed a relationship drastically different from the _familial_.

Decker yawned and sat down in the chair Jethro had vacated earlier, crossing his legs and slouching back as he rubbed his face. He placed the reading material in his hand on his lap, something Jenny recognized as a case-file—or at least something like it—and glanced out the window and at Jenny's chair (where the Cosmopolitan magazine had been discarded) and then at both of them dully.

Jenny smiled at him again and he gave her a small smirk.

"How long have you two been sleeping together?" he asked lightly, and she knew the moment he said it it was just Decker being Decker, and it was meant to be a joke.

She didn't react as obviously as she had when Ducky had called them out, but she laughed quietly and Jethro stilled the movements of his hand on her shoulder. She should have come back with a snappier comment, or rolled her eyes, or done something. Decker, in the silence, glanced from her to Jethro, his smile fading a little and his eyes widening just slightly.

"Son of a bitch," he murmured, looking back at her, "you _are_ sleeping together!"

He stared at Jenny. She looked back at him, and finally lifted an eyebrow. He looked like he was waiting for some kind of confirmation or explanation.

"Figures," he snorted, leaning back in his chair. "More power to you," he muttered, shooting a glance at Jethro. Jenny lifted her head and tilted it at Decker, smiling slightly. He stretched his legs out onto Jenny's previous chair and crossed them, crinkling her magazine in the process. Jenny winced, hoping he wouldn't notice what magazine it was exactly. He didn't; the angle was too awkward.

"How long until Calais?" he asked, still looking intently at them.

"Hour and a half," Gibbs mumbled in response. Jenny glanced at him from her peripheral vision. He still had his eyes closed. Either he was ignoring what Decker had said previously or he actually hadn't heard it.

Jethro wrapped a strand of her hair around his finger absently. She smiled slightly. He always wanted to be touching her hair.

"Then I've got three more," muttered Decker, disgruntled. He sighed and ran a hand over his face again, slouching down in his chair a little more. He stared darkly across the plane from himself. Jenny felt sorry for him. He was being sent off alone, without even a partner to keep him company. She didn't think she'd want his position.

Jethro continued to rub her shoulder gently and she leaned her head back against him again, starting a casual conversation with Decker about nothing in particular. She deflected a few snarky comments from the other agent concerning her and Jethro, but he might have quieted those because she suspected Jethro was glaring at him over her shoulder.

She thought time passed rather slowly. It was dark and, in her opinion, freezing when they landed at the airfield. There was a car waiting for them, empty, and unexplained, probably the doing of Morrow or Leon Vance. Without a word, Jethro disappeared in the direction of the car while Jenny said a polite goodbye to Decker. When she reached him finally, he was leaning against the car swinging the keys.

"Where did you get those?" she asked, stifling a yawn. Jethro smirked at her and tilted his head to the passenger side of the car. She looked at him balefully for a minute, reluctant to go to sleep and debating the merits of trying to force him to let her drive. She decided against it finally and settled herself in the passenger seat, watching him get in and draw his seatbelt on.

She reached down and slipped off her shoes, curling her toes and relaxing into the seat for a long, boring car drive.

"Cold?" Jethro asked. She nodded. He gestured to her and she scooted over in her seat towards him, letting him wrap on arm around her and trusting him to drive safely with one hand. She stared out the front windshield at the sites and then swallowed and wet her lips, breathing in deeply.

"What's your favorite color?" she asked.

Jethro stayed quiet for a moment, his focus on the road.

"Blue," he answered. Jenny shifted her head on his shoulder. She smiled to herself. She'd half expected him to say red. She thought about her next question and then spoke again:

"What about food?"

"Steak," he answered hesitantly, glancing down at her. "Are you luring me into a false sense of security with meaningless questions until I'm not ready when you spring something important one me?"

Jenny giggled quietly.

"Jesus, Jethro, two wives have really made you paranoid," she commented, resting her hand on his leg lightly. She shook her head a little, and shrugged. "Just curious," she answered, chewing on the inside of her lip.

She didn't know if he'd be up for answering questions. They were simple, frivolous questions, but Jethro had so many issues with intimacy that showed themselves in different and weird ways she didn't know where his boundaries were. She didn't want to push.

"Green," he said gruffly. Jenny furrowed her brow.

"What?"

"Your favorite color. Green," he repeated matter-of-factly. Jenny smiled softly. He would know that.

"Jethro," she signed, snuggling into his warmth. "You never cease to surprise me."

Jenny fell asleep against her will halfway through the car ride, leaving Jethro to sit in silence and contemplate his thoughts. It was interesting that she wanted to know things about him like that. He hadn't even had an answer to the color question for a minute, but his first thought had been of Kelly's shining blue eyes and then that had been the first thing out of his mouth.

His ears were filled with the sound of the car's engine and Jenny's occasional incoherent mumbling for the rest of the drive. It started to sprinkle rain lightly at the last end of the journey, and that pretty much drowned out Jenny's consistent sleep talking. He was finally navigating through the crowded streets of Paris back to their original safe house when Jenny, quite clearly, stated:

"SecNav," and then whimpered, "Jethro."

"Shhhh," he shushed automatically, squeezing her shoulder out of habit. He glanced down at her again, his brow furrowing. He hadn't asked her why Morrow had asked her to stay after and speak privately with SecNav, mainly because he knew instinctively she'd refuse to tell him and it would result in a fight.

That didn't mean he hadn't thought about it. He knew SecNav pretty well, thought he was a decent guy, but he didn't know what business he would have with Jenny and Jenny alone. It wasn't often Director Morrow just introduced agents to his boss.

Jenny's sleep talking said a lot about what was on her mind. She mumbled about things that were bothering her, when she wasn't having good dreams. It was how he learned how her mind worked and how to get a feel for her moods. It was why she couldn't figure out how he knew so much about her; she refused to acknowledge she talked in her sleep.

Jenny resumed incoherent mumbling, not saying anything clearly again. She fell silent and shifted, turning her face into his neck. He breathed in her scent and ran his hand up and down her shoulder as he parked the car on the road outside the safe house, turning off the ignition and looking up at the place darkly.

His last memories of being here weren't pleasant. She had been hurt.

"Jenny," he said gruffly, shaking her.

"Shut-up," she responded sleepily. Jethro smirked. He disentangled himself from her simply and got out of the car, locking the door with her inside. Jenny sat up and looked at him through the window and retreated back into her seat fully, glaring at him darkly. She raised her hand and tapped pointedly on the window. He unlocked the car, and Jenny got out grudgingly, slamming the door with more force than necessary. She glared at him hard as he came around to meet her.

She pushed around him and stalked up the steps, reaching behind her to grab the key from Jethro as he held it out. She didn't know how he came to be in possession of all the keys suddenly, but she was glad. She let them inside, locked the door behind her, and turned to look at him.

"This feels different," she said apprehensively. It was foreboding to her, being without Ducky, and after all that had happened. It was weird. She and Jethro. Living together. In a house. Alone. She shook her head, thinking she was tired and her thoughts were running wild.

"Let's go to bed, Jen," he said hoarsely, jerking his head and starting up the stairs. She followed him with a nod and, just for the hell of it, didn't bother shutting the door to their bedroom. They did not have to worry about anyone interrupting them now.

He turned around and pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her shoulders in a tight hug. Jenny held him around his waist and pushed him back until his knees hit the bed and he sat down, pulling her down on top of him. She kissed him, trying to get closer still.

* * *

Jenny had just pulled her hair out of its towel and shaken it wildly over her shoulders, preparing to dry it after a long, hot shower, when she picked up the hairdryer, about to flick it on, and the bathroom was suddenly shrouded in complete darkness.

Confused, she flicked the hairdryer furiously, thinking she'd shorted a circuit, and finally put it down and felt her way to the door, opening it. The bedroom was pitch black as well, and she could see no lights in the hallway through the open door.

"Jethro?" she called, not exactly sure where he was. She carefully picked her way to the bedroom door and flicked the light switch a few times, ascertaining that the power was down and it wasn't her or the hairdryer's fault.

"Jethro!" she shouted, trying to get him to respond. She looked around her, squinting to try and adjust in the dark, and grabbed the wall, feeling her way out of the bedroom. She could barely see the outline of the stairs and started forward, intent on finding the railing, when she collided with a shadowy black mass.

With a piercing shriek, she leapt back and stumbled on the edge of the stairs, grasping at Jethro (for the black mass was, in fact, Jethro) as she fell to try and keep her balance. She landed on the top stair painfully on her butt and knocked Jethro's legs out from under him, sending him sprawling with a grunt next to her, half on the landing and half down the stairs.

She gasped, trying to catch her breath from the scare, and drew a knee up to her chest.

"JETHRO!" she shouted, half-angry and half-relieved that it was he.

"Watch where you're going," he growled at her.

"I can't _see_ anything," she snapped, "the power's out, in case you hadn't noticed!"

"Doesn't mean you should go around crashing into things," he retorted shortly, shifting towards her. His arm bumped against her shoulder and she pushed him for good measure, her behind still smarting from the fall.

"Dammit," he cursed, moving to rub his hand over his knee.

"Are you hurt?" she asked, leaning towards him concerned.

"Fine," he grumbled back, drawing his hand back and reaching toward her. She felt his hand on her side, ghosting over her ribs gently and then pressing. "You all right?" he asked gruffly, worried about her still-healing injuries.

Jenny nodded, answering out loud when she remembered he probably couldn't see her. Jethro moved his hand down to brace his arm against the stairs and then stopped when he hit bare thigh instead of cotton shorts or pajama pants. He rubbed his hand interestedly over her skin and up to her stomach again.

"What are you wearing?" he asked curiously, and she could practically hear his eyebrows going up.

"I just got out of the show—"

"Are you naked?" he interrupted, sounding even more intrigued.

"No, I'm—"

His hand collided with delicately made lace and ran exploring over her breast, stopping her midsentence as she caught her breath in her throat. His head tilted up towards her and he traced the outline of her lingerie with his fingers, running along the strap and under it. He turned towards her, snaking an arm across her middle and worming a leg between hers.

"You smell good," he murmured, burying his nose in her neck. His hand drifted down to her hip and he availed himself of the lingerie there too, his fingers brushing the inside of her thigh. "What color is this?" he asked huskily, sensing she was about to speak.

Jenny swallowed and closed her eyes, reaching down to take his hand firmly.

"Blue," she answered slowly, catching her breath, "Jethro, go check the circuit box—"

"It's not the circuits," he mumbled, trying to shake off her defensive hand. She gripped his fingers tightly and he frowned at her.

"How do you know?"

"Lights on the whole block are down," he retorted impatiently, wriggling his fingers. "Blue," he repeated, pinching whatever part of her hand he could reach so she let go in outrage and he could go back to imagining the material.

"What the hell is wrong with the power, then?" Jenny asked, disgruntled.

"Blackout," murmured Jethro, pushing wet hair off of her forehead and kissing her neck.

"Jethro," Jenny admonished impatiently, pushing on his shoulder. She squirmed. "Are you at all concerned about this?"

"Noooo," he drawled, his hand creeping back up to her lace covered breasts again. Jenny rolled her eyes and lifted her knee, trying to maneuver it cleverly enough to jab him in the ribs. He tactfully avoided her.

"We have no heat without electricity," she whined, thinking about how ridiculously cold it was outside in late November Paris.

"I can keep you warm," Jethro suggested. Jenny had very little doubt of that. She rested a hand on Jethro's shoulder and smirked, only half disappointed he couldn't actually see the blue lace she was dressed up in. She squealed in protest as she found herself pulled closer to him on the stairs and finally managed to block his groin with her knee, earning a warning growl from him in her ear.

"Jethro," she breathed, justifying her actions, "this is uncomfortable."

With a grumble, Jethro pulled back, careful to remove himself from the line of fire of her kneecap, and let her shift back to a sitting position, rubbing the back of her neck. She tilted her head and let her hair fall over one shoulder, looking at him as best she could in the dark.

"Let's have some fun," she suggested ominously. Jethro scowled.

"What do you think I was trying to do?" he asked pointedly.

"Fun that doesn't involve sex—"

"I don't understand," Jethro interrupted immaturely. Jenny rolled her eyes and continued as if he hadn't.

"Completely."

Jethro remained quiet. She reached out and tried to find some part of him to touch comfortingly, to prove she wasn't deliberately trying to torture him. He snatched her hand away and she giggled softly, unaware she'd been blindly reaching for that part of his anatomy.

"Tease," he accused in a low voice.

"You think so?" she asked lightly, and he sensed a challenge there. Jenny shifted and sat up on the landing, drawing her leg up his suggestively and cocking her head at him. "I want to play a game," she informed him musingly, watching him.

Jethro crawled up the stairs towards her, unfairly running a manipulating hand up from her smooth ankle to her thigh, pressing his warm hand against her skin nonchalantly. He waited for her to continue, showing his peaked interest with a touch.

Jenny reached down and took his wandering hand, lacing her fingers through his and then bringing it up to feel the lace bra again under her restricting guide and back down over her stomach dangerously close to the matching panties.

"It's dark," she commented, running her fingers over his knuckles, "late," she added, as if tallying up her options. She guided his hand over her thigh and held it on her knee teasingly, clearly making her decision. "Hide and seek," she said with a wicked smirk.

Jethro muttered something under his breath and she slid her hand up his arm, digging her nails lightly into his bicep where his bare skin met his t-shirt and leaving five soft, half-moon marks.

"If you find me, I take something off," she coaxed.

He was acutely aware she wasn't wearing that much at all.

"You want to play hide and seek, with stakes like that," Gibbs stated slowly, lifting an eyebrow, "with a marine."

Jenny nodded slowly. She stood up, pulling him with her with a gentle tug, and tapped his hand with her finger, looking at him as best she could in the immovable darkness. She lifted her hand and twirled it in a circle for him to turn around.

"Stand against the wall," she ordered, "and count."

"How high?"

"Can you make it to ten on your own?" she asked sweetly.

"I've got the advantage. I'll give you twenty," Jethro retorted, glaring at the comment.

Jenny smirked and shook her head.

"I only need ten," she gloated, sidestepping him and sauntering down the stairs. He was so busy trying to catch a glimpse of her beyond a shadowy outline that he forgot to count for a minute.

Jenny smiled as she stopped at the bottom of the stairs and looked back up though there was no hope of seeing Jethro. She arched her eyebrow and casually stepped into Ducky's old room, leaning against the wall inside and evening out her breathing. Carefully, she felt around with her foot until she found the bookshelf that was in the room against the wall, and reached over to grasp any random object off of it. She picked up whatever it was, peeked covertly out of the door, and chucked it across the hall into the parlor. It made a loud bang, and she smirked.

Jethro would be successfully diverted.

It was only after a few moments that she realized she couldn't hear him moving. At all. There was no sound from upstairs or outside the room and it slowly began to psyche her out. She didn't know if it was okay to move and continue with her plan. She hadn't even heard the nearly unavoidable creak of the third the last stair.

Jenny widened her eyes in the pitch black, trying to force herself to see better, and slowly poked her nose around Ducky's doorway again, squinting this time. Jethro didn't appear to be standing in the hallway. Jenny inched into the hall with a small smile. Listening hard for a minute, she decided to throw caution to the wind and walked silently up the stairs, taking her time as if she didn't give a damn. She slipped into her rarely used bedroom and shut the door, wandering over to her closet.

Smirking, she slipped on a pair of heels that certainly didn't match, but it wouldn't be noticed in the eerie dark of the blackout. As impractical and ridiculous as it was to slide on heels for an adult-rated game of hide and seek, Jenny knew Jethro had a thing for them. She held up her foot admiringly and cocked her head at it, loving her shoes for a moment before she got down on her knees and crawled across the floor, rooting around for one of the shirts Jethro had left in here once.

She pulled it out from under the bed and pulled it on, unsure if it was inside out or not. She snuggled into it because she was cold running around in her virtually non-existent lingerie and Jethro would be outraged to discover she'd put clothing on. Smelling the collar happily, Jenny stretched out on her bed and waited, either for Jethro to find her or to get irritated and start yelling for her.

She ran her hand back through her tangled, drying hair and wrinkled her nose, shaking it to try and help relieve the dampness. She thought fleetingly of the utter ridiculousness of two federal agents playing hide and seek in a tax-payer purchased safe house, one of the agents into rather expensive eyelet lace lingerie, and then reminded herself it was definitely for the good of NCIS and therefore America: if she and Jethro didn't fool around and relax, they would be crushed by their demons and probably lose control of reality.

Jenny shrugged and shivered at the thought. It was unfortunately so true she didn't want to consider it. She was surprised Jethro had agreed to play instead of rolling his eyes and dragging her into bed. Maybe he had more of a wild side then she thought…

Her eyebrows went up as he breezed through the door in a classic Gibbs-entrance, throwing it open as if it was a twig. She sat up slowly and tilted her head at him, waiting for his eyes to adjust to seeing her form in the dark, and tried to get up. She made it three steps forward before he grabbed her and tossed her back on the bed, pouncing next to her and attacking her sides with his hands.

"_Jethro_!" she squealed, unaccustomed to being tickled. She giggled and tried valiantly to escape, attempting to knock his hands out of the way and impale his legs with her newly added heels. Jethro drew his hand forcefully down the shirt's opening, enough to rend the two buttons Jenny had fastened opened, and pushed if off of her shoulders, sliding his hands under her shoulders and pulling her closer to him.

"Putting more clothes on is cheating," he growled in her ear, trapping her between his legs. Jenny shook her head and arched her brow.

"It's not cheating," she said silkily, wriggling a hand out to run down his face, "it's a tactical manipulation of the established guidelines of the game."

Jenny smirked. She could sense his glare.

"Cheater," he informed her decisively, muttering the words against her lips as he nudged her chin up to mark her throat. Jenny closed her eyes briefly and let him have his fun, content to enjoy the savagery of his lips. Then she took his unsuspecting arms firmly and flipped him over, settling primly over his lap and shucking the shirt off of her shoulders. He was quick to reach up and yank it off by the sleeves, his hands immediately reaching around her back for the clasp of her bra.

"No," Jenny reprimanded loudly, slapping his hand. She crawled forward like a cat, touching her nose to his playfully. "I still want to play."

She pressed her nose into his and flicked a smooth hand dangerously below his waistline.

"_Your_ turn to hide."

Jethro groaned, sounding frustrated. He darted a hand into her hair and pulled her mouth down onto his, hooking his leg around hers and attempting to roll her back over. Jenny planted a palm firmly in his shoulder and pushed, fighting him down. She traced the outline of his bottom lip with her tongue and smiled, affecting a pout that he'd just be able to make out in the shadowy dark.

"What?" she asked, mocking him. She lifted an eyebrow innocently and kissed the corner of his mouth, using her free hand to push his hair back sweetly, "Can't you," she paused, tilting her head, and lowered her voice, "rise to the occasion?"

Her voice was throaty, suggestive.

Jethro knocked her palm away fiercely and pulled her down under him, quite clearly affronted by the challenge to his ability to perform. Jenny laughed softly. She curled a leg around his waist lightly, making a soft indent in his back with the point of her heel. Slowly, she used the leverage of his hip to slip the shoe off and toss it across the room, performing the same maneuver with her other shoe.

"Hide," she ordered softly. She knew he didn't want to wait. She had him too revved up with her playfulness. She could see him debating it in his eyes; listen to her bidding or ignore her and get her panties off before she could blink. She lifted an eyebrow and felt him clench his fist on the bed beside her head in annoyance before reaching down to unwind her thigh from his waist and standing up.

Jenny followed, pulling up languidly and scooting to the edge of the bed. She crooked a come-hither finger at him and when he stepped forward, played with the button of his jeans before lifting his shirt over his head and dropping it to the floor.

"One," she said slowly, pressing her hand against the warm, taut, muscles of his abdomen and feeling as they tightened considerably. "Two," she continued pointedly, peeking open one eye.

She glared at him pointedly.

"Three," she stated silkily, and his warmth disappeared as he left.

Delicately, Jenny stood up, trying to steady her own heart rate and stop the room from spinning. She didn't plan on counting; she just planned on going after him. Maybe making him find her again if she decided she could wait. She leaned against the doorframe when she reached it, searching the dark hallway and top of the stairs, debating. Which way would Jethro have gone…?

She glanced casually down the hall towards his bedroom and opted for checking downstairs, resting her hand lightly on the banister as she waltzed down. It was chilly in the house without the heating, and she was starting to feel the cold; chill bumps were speckling her arms and legs.

Wired with adrenaline and on edge, half expecting Jethro to leap out of some dark corner and scare the living daylights out of her, she kept her listening sharp and her eyes open, wandering into the parlor. After a few seconds glancing around, she retreated back to the hallway, heading for the kitchen.

She had taken five steps in when he skin started to crawl and she caught her breath, almost positive there was someone behind her. Before she could make the decision to turn around and check, Jethro had grabbed her and spun her around, tucking an arm behind her back and pushing her against the counter, his warm torso pressed against her. She let out a strangled gasp and bit her lip. She thought he was going to take her right then for a moment, but instead he bent over her and pressed his lips to her ear gently.

"I win," he growled.

"I don't think you understand the rules of the game," she chided, relaxing a little. She hadn't expected to be so shaken by him jumping out at her, and she sensed he realized he'd scared her more than he meant to. He eased his hold a little and spun her back around, leaning into her so she felt all of him pressed against her, firm, fit against her curves like no one else ever had. Her knees suddenly felt too weak to support her.

"I understand, Jen," he informed her blithely, his hands easily undoing the claps of her lace bra and sliding the straps off her shoulders, pulling bare skin against bare skin. She felt him smirk arrogantly as his mouth lowered to her shoulder and he barely touched her skin with a kiss.

"I just cheated," he said bluntly, pushing her shoulder back and attacking her flesh with his mouth. Jenny laughed good-naturedly, amused that he'd straight up owned to cheating while she'd defended her clothing-replacing actions with fancy words.

Jenny pulled him forward at his hips, dropping her mouth to the dip between his collar bone and neck that she could reach, intoxicated with the taste of his skin. His hands left her shoulders and she felt him between them, fumbling with his button, pushing his jeans down, and reaching for the fragile lace of her scrap of lingerie with impatient fingers.

Jenny titled her head back with a gasp of anticipation as his rough hands brushed her thighs. Jethro pressed his forehead into her shoulder and wrapped an arm around her waist, lifting her up and settling her effortlessly on the counter in front of him, hardly letting an inch of space come between them. She wrapped her legs around his waist and he gripped her thighs almost painfully as he buried himself in her.

"God," she whimpered breathlessly, her throat closing up.

Jethro slipped his hand up her back and rested it at the back of her head so she wouldn't hurt it against the cabinets behind her. He tangled his fingers in her hair and covered her mouth with his, holding her close. Jenny moaned desperately against his lips, her stomach stirring and tightening as she tried to pull him closer and closer with her legs. He deepened the kiss, letting lust fuel him, one hand slipping over her flat stomach caressingly. She arched toward him and he felt her tighten around him, her shoulders shivering; he broke the kiss in time to hear her gasp his name, moaning, because he wanted to push her over the edge.

"Jen," he groaned, finding her smoky, enticing green eyes and pulling her tightly to him around her middle. She cried out and tilted her head back, exposing the perfect arch of her neck, and he leaned forward, pulling her hair as gently as possible, taking advantage of the exposed skin and scraping his teeth against her carotid artery. He sensed her break, felt her come apart in front of him, and pressed his mouth against her ear, brushing every curve with his lips:

"I love you," he told her huskily, gripping her waist tightly. He shuddered against her, coming seconds after she did, the only sensation left being the fevered beating of her heart against his, the warmth of her hot skin and the feel of her soft, small hands wrapping around his slumped shoulders and hugging him tightly, her breathless, ragged words an incoherent mantra into his hair.

* * *

The bathroom was cast in an eerie, flickering pale glow caused by the small flames of a few candles, the only light that was available in the Paris blackout. Jethro leaned back in the porcelain tub, submersed to the biceps in soapy, steaming water with Jenny held against his chest, her hair spread out over her shoulders and her eyes closed lightly. Both exhausted and satiated for the time being, after countless hours spent in the throes of passion, the scalding bubble bath was Jenny's welcome suggestion of a way for them to 'cool down', so to speak—relax.

She hadn't said a word in over half an hour, he, even longer; he'd hazard a guess that she'd fallen asleep if her breathing wasn't so alert and unsteady. He had his head leant back gingerly against the tile wall of the bathroom; hers was resting on his chest just below his shoulder, so he could look down and see the curve of her forehead and the fringe of her dark lashes. Her toes stuck out of the water at the end, rested against the edge of the tub, wriggling every once in a while if she started to feel pins and needles. He'd started off rubbing her shoulders gently in a soothing massage, and moved on to now leaving one hand protectively on the side of the bathtub and letting the other roam where he fancied.

He was currently feeling the healing ribs at her side, gently probing the points of fracture, though explicitly careful not to hurt her. In the silence and peace, and his silent, guilty examination of her lingering injury, his thoughts were wandering to the mission files tucked in the portfolio Morrow had given him. Files he hadn't at all truthfully discussed with Jenny.

He didn't know what was stopping him telling her what 'ending this' meant. She'd fleetingly asked about the mission, and he'd told her it was Vance's clean up, which was true to an extent. He was waiting on a mark from Vance to tell him it was clear to go…before he ended it with a few impeccably placed Sig Saur bullets, leaving Vance's cover in-tact and giving he and Jenny a clear out.

She didn't know. He hadn't told her this was, more or less, an assassination. Even a revenge assignment.

Director Morrow had asked him, quietly, if he thought Agent Shepard was ready to handle a sanctioned murder, and the emotional qualms that often came with it, and he'd said yes before he even thought about it. He had faith in Jenny to do her job; she always had. She loved it, she thrived in it, and she took it dead serious, but he knew how traumatic her first experience shooting someone point-blank had been, and he was unwilling to put her through it.

It frustrated him, the caring. If he'd been with anyone else, it wouldn't be a problem. Having her in the equation, not just as a partner whose back he had to have but also as a lover, who he cared fiercely about, made it hard to make a clear-cut decision. He knew, on some level, they never should have let their relationship go this far. They should have broken it clean when lust turned into love on them, even if it hurt them both like hell, because love was too damn dangerous of a factor to have in war games like these.

He was startled out of his thoughts by Jenny's soft touch on his arm. She stretched an arm out next to his on the tub and laced her fingers through his, squeezing his hand. She tilted her head back against his shoulder and cuddled back into him, pressing closer and sinking down into the water more. Her hair floated on the edge of the hot water like rose petals. She was sleepy; he knew from experience the sandalwood scent of her candles made her sleepy.

He lifted his head up and looked down at her, drawing himself out of the well of his thoughts. He ran his hand under the water over her thigh and she raised her knee, pressing her leg into his hand welcomingly. She sighed with contentment and settled her head again, her wet hair tickling him.

Caressing her leg absently, he let his eyes roam over her face, studying her soft skin, the small, faint lines that formed over her brow when she was almost asleep, the full, sexy pout of her lips and the strong beauty of her features.

He had the sudden, inexplicable, and wrenching feeling that he was going to lose her, and he leaned down to kiss her head, squeezing her hand tightly.

Jenny smiled faintly, brought his hand to her mouth, kissed it, and rested it against her breast, curving his arm around her. He tightened his grip just a little, determined to make her fight to get away if it ever came to that.

* * *


	26. Cold

_A/N: Thanks to Aly!_

_**I'm really sorry about the loooong wait between updates. My life sort of imploded on itself. Well, I've quit my job now, pretty much at my parents insistence, but I'm glad to be much less stressed right now. Updates should be more regular; especially when the semester ends and I finish up this horrid Algebra 2 life. Now that I have bored you with my life, on to the chapter!_

_***WAIT! One more note: MatteaAM wrote a story called 'I Love You', and I think you should all go read it because a) she based it on this story and that makes me feel special and loved and b) it's a really, really good little one-shot. Seriously. *glares* Go read. _

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* * *

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The blackout lost its appeal before long. Their block and a few of the surrounding blocks were completely down, and after three days with no air or heating—no electronics at all—Leroy Jethro Gibbs was running on a short fuse, and Jenny's had proven even shorter. She couldn't get warm, couldn't sleep well, and neither one of them could find a damn thing to eat that didn't need heating up to be decent.

The lights finally came back on going into the fourth night—right in the middle of the night—and woke him up, brightening the room annoyingly at about two a.m. after he'd finally managed to toss and turn himself into a fitful sleep. It was cold enough in the house without the added discomfort of sleeping alone, and having no warm body to press close to.

Jenny was sleeping in her room. He didn't know when the escalating amount of spats and arguments had cumulated into a shouting match, but they'd both finally lost it and she'd informed him in a rage he could sleep alone tonight. Putting his foot in his mouth as usual when he was dealing with redheads, he'd responded that she wouldn't last five minutes in her cold bed without him, meaning she'd stayed in her room just to prove him wrong even if it killed her.

He rolled over and blinked hazily in the light when they flickered back on as if nothing had ever gone wrong, and he was relieved to hear the heating switch on from somewhere downstairs. He ran a hand over his face trying to clear his eyes. He debated going back to sleep or trudging downstairs to cook something. He'd have to get up to turn the light off…

Muttering darkly, he sat up in bed and rubbed his hand over his eyes, still half-blinded by the unfamiliar bright light. He thrust off the covers, grimacing at the cool air that hit him, and strode out of the room into the hall instead, slowly inching the thermostat towards the heat side. Jenny would appreciate being warm when she woke up, and maybe it would put her in a better mood.

Meaning _not_ pissed at him.

Noticing suddenly that the lights throughout the house were on, he trudged down the stairs flicking them all off, finally settling on just going back to bed and sleeping off the irritation and discomfort he was feeling and starting over in the morning.

He paused at the top of the stairs, looking stonily at Jenny's tightly shut door. He wouldn't put it past her to have locked it, after she'd all but slammed it off the hinges, but the anger towards her was starting to ebb away. He could hardly remember what they were fighting about anyway.

Jethro grumbled under his breath again and went over to her door, pausing slightly before turning the knob quietly and opening the door to look in on her. The two lamps in her room were shining, right next to her bed, and Jenny was curled up in the middle of it. Jethro pushed the door open a little further and snuck across the room silently, turning off one lamp with the most docile clicking noise it could make.

Jenny shifted in her sleep, and he gave her a quick glance before he walked around the bed to the other side, reaching for that lamp as well. Jenny sniffled quietly in her sleep and then lifted her head, blinking her eyes open and looking at him, brief confusion etched on her face before it melted into an expressionless mask.

"Power's back," Jethro said, his hand resting on the switch for the second lamp. "I turned the heat up."

"Thanks," Jenny said softly, sounding like she hadn't slept at all.

He noticed she was wearing a sweatshirt and gave her a look. She was obviously freezing her ass off, but she was too damn stubborn to just crawl into bed with him. Frankly, he was cold, and he wanted her to stop punishing him. Jenny sighed and smiled a little, pulling the covers back. Without a word, he turned off the lamp and got in next to her.

Jenny shifted onto her stomach next to him and rested her head on her arm, closing her eyes lightly. Laying on his back, Jethro couldn't help feeling eerily like he was married again, sleeping with someone who was, for all he knew, still pissed at him.

"You realize this means I win," Jenny informed him quietly, without moving. He shifted his head to look at her and scowled.

"You win?"

"_You_ couldn't last a night without me," she gloated, correcting his earlier arrogant jab at her. Frowning at her sleeping form as a ghost of a smirk flitted across her inviting, pink lips. Jethro rolled onto his side and subtly wormed his foot closer to Jenny's; trying casually to find the hem of the sweats she was sleeping in.

Finding it, he snuck his cold foot up her leg and Jenny shivered, burying her head in the pillow and curving her shoulders in.

"Nah," he muttered flippantly, shrugging, "Just knew you'd be cold."

"Mmm-hmmm," Jenny mocked, her eyebrow going up even in her half-sleep.

Jethro rubbed her leg teasingly with his cold toes. He wrapped an arm around her waist snugly and settled down next to her, burying his face into her shoulder and messy waterfall of hair. Jenny laughed softly and laid her hand between them, resting her fingers next to his head. He sensed she wasn't quite herself; the fighting must have bothered her more than he thought.

He ran his hand up her back and pushed her hair off her neck, kissing her there lingeringly, his personal way of smoothing things over. Jenny didn't move. She didn't say another word, but the rigidity of her body relaxed a little. He waited for her breathing to even out, when the room started to warm and the atmosphere got more comfortable, before he let himself fall asleep.

Both tired and relieved to finally have the luxury of heat and electricity, they slept late into the day. Jenny woke up and slipped out before the near midday sun woke him, shining too bright for comfort, and finding her gone proved just how tired he'd been. He generally woke up before her, and had always noticed when she left.

He glanced at Jenny's clock, groaned at the late hour, and dragged himself out of bed, feeling lazier than usual. He was suspiciously surprised she hadn't woke him up, though he was glad to find there was no smell of burning food like there had been the last time she'd snuck out of bed first.

He rubbed his eyes and walked out of the room, giving a cursory glance around to look at Jenny's things. He didn't spend much time in her room, though neither did she, and he knew she used it mostly for storage. In other words, her stuff was unorganized and all over the place.

Jethro was halfway down the stairs when the scent of coffee hit him and he sped up a little, thankful that one of the one things Jenny was capable of 'cooking' was coffee. He walked lightly on the carpet, alert for her, surprised she hadn't appeared yet, and found her before he got to the kitchen.

He looked in the doorway to the living area as he passed and found her sitting on the floor against the couch, her knees stretched out in front of her, silent and peaceful looking. She was dressed in comfortable clothes, her hair tied up messily—one of his favorite styles—and she was reading something intently in her lap, with a few other papers spread out around her.

She didn't notice him, and he watched her silently for a moment, studying her profile and the way he could see her eyes move slightly as she surveyed what she was reading. Opting not to disturb her, if only to get on her good side since he didn't know where he stood after last night's semi-forgiveness, he backed away from the doorway and plodded into the kitchen, rummaging around for a clean mug. It was eerie how many things had been left out, just as they had been before, when they had returned to the safe house after Olivia's death.

A tea cup of Ducky's had been resting on the counter—not appetizing at all, obviously—but complete with a teabag and looking pretty much as if he were about to walk back in and claim it. It was sobering, if anything.

Jethro rubbed a hand over his eyes as he poured a cup of coffee and cleared his throat, blinking in the sunlight that streamed through the window above the sink. He swallowed a burning mouthful of coffee, by now immune to the temperature, and turned around sighed in relief. There was nothing like fresh brewed coffee.

Soft footfalls behind him alerted Jethro to her presence. He turned around slowly, the mug held lightly in one hand, and focused on Jenny. Something in the way she looked stopped him from greeting her.

She leaned against the doorframe, her shoulders straight, her lips together, and her face otherwise smooth and expressionless. She didn't look angry, but with a trained eye he could tell she was upset—and not in the way she had been after their fighting last night. The warmth of the room suddenly dropped; he could feel hurt emanating from her.

Without word, Jenny lifted her hand slightly and held up between two fingers the file on their mission. Swallowing slowly, Jethro looked at it and then up at her face pointedly, settling his gaze on her guarded emerald orbs. He hadn't noticed she'd been reading the case file.

Jenny came forward and gently placed the file on the table without a word, letting her fingers slide off of it as she stepped back and folded her arms protectively, her brow hardening just a little as she met his gaze again.

"Were you planning on briefing me on this mission at all?" Jenny asked quietly, and what made him wary was the completely non-threatening tone of her voice. He could tell she was angry, and she wasn't showing it.

He didn't know the answer. He hadn't gotten that far yet. He wasn't about to tell her he had actually been planning on lying.

"Jethro," the volume of her voice heightened and she demanded an answer.

"I did brief you," he said before he could stop himself. His mouth had a penchant for digging his grave for him. Jenny's eyes narrowed slightly and she parted her lips.

"'We're back-up and control for Vance; this is his clean-up,'" Jenny repeated to him, mimicking the exact words he'd mumbled to her in bed when she'd asked about it. Jenny picked up the file delicately and flicked it open with a nail, her eyes scanning the page. She looked up at him sharply over the tip of the manila.

"Acquire targets; execute. Extradition deemed impossible; removal of threat imperative. Sanctioned by Director Thomas Morrow; NCIS. Operatives: Jennifer Shepard, Leroy Jethro Gibbs, and Leon Vance. Black Ops. Classified. Assignment: Exterminate," she read aloud from the foremost part of the file and Jethro made it a point not to visibly flinch. Jenny shut the file and threw it down with a loud _slap_ on the table. "It sure as hell doesn't sound like you briefed me," she snapped dangerously.

Jethro swallowed, setting his mug on the counter behind him. He could tell this wasn't going to be easily resolved. He'd made a mistake, maybe, in not being honest with her; but she didn't understand he was trying to protect her.

"How would that have gone over, Jen?" he asked shortly.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"You know damn well," Jethro barked, harsher than he intended to, "How would you have reacted if I told you we were being sent to murder the French targets?"

"I don't suppose we'll ever know," Jenny said sharply, her eyes flashing angrily. "What were _you_ thinking, Jethro? That I can't handle the job? I'm not strong enough? I'm too much of a," she paused, smiling sarcastically, "a female?"

"Jesus Christ, Jen—"

"Don't," she interrupted coldly. "_Don't. _This isn't a simple back-up mission. It's an _assassination_, Jethro—you didn't think I had a right to know that? You didn't think it was a bit of an _important_ _detail_?" she demanded, unfolding her arms and planting them on the table. She glared at him like he was insane, repugnant.

"I didn't think you'd agree with it!" Jethro snapped, pushing the mug away from him on the country in a physical manifestation of his frustration. He stepped closer to her, his shoulders tightening visibly. "You couldn't stand it when you shot Assante point-blank, you think I wanted to put you through it six or seven more times when I watched it tear you up? Dammit, Jenny, it wasn't about not thinking you're good enough. We have to do this, I didn't want you fighting it—"

"Stop," she interrupted again. "I am not fighting the assignment, Jethro, I am not unable to carry out this mission. Those men hurt me, they took away my independence when they tortured me and they almost beat me—I'll be damned if I can't take away their lives in return! I am not angry because we're being sent to _kill_!"

He gave her a cool, calculating look. He hadn't expected such a cold confession of an unforgiving nature from her. He had judged her wrong again. Jenny glared at him from across the table, pitted against him, fire in her eyes.

"I am angry because you didn't trust me enough to know no matter what my personal feelings, I will do my job."

"It's not about trust, Jen," he said sharply.

"Goddammit Jethro, it's all about trust. What were you going to do? Take them out alone—or throw me into the middle of a firefight, unprepared, unassuming, and pretend it was all an accident?"

"I care about you a little more than throwing you into the middle of a gunfight," Jethro snarled.

"I'm not so sure," Jenny said coldly, her eyes gone cool as ice.

He looked at her harshly. It didn't sit well with him to have his feelings for her challenged; he sure as hell wasn't about to try and convince her of them. He stared at her stonily, not saying a word, and she clenched her jaw, sliding the file across the table towards him roughly.

"You as good as lied to me," she said.

"I didn't do it to hold you back."

"I don't need to be protected, Jethro!" Jenny shouted, reading between the lines perfectly. "I'm your partner and your lover—your girlfriend, or whatever you want to call us—but I am _not_ your damsel in distress! I'm not even your probie anymore!" she reigned in her burst of anger for a moment and backed away from the table, as if restraining herself, pressing her lips together. "You owe me more than this."

"I wasn't going to leave you in the dark, Jen. You got to the files before I got to you,"

"For some reason, I don't believe you," she snarled.

"When you asked me about the mission, we were naked in your bed Jenny! You think the first thing on my mind was the mission? You think I wanted to talk about sanctioned murder?"

"It doesn't matter when I asked you about it!" Jenny yelled, throwing her hands up. "You would have lied no matter what the time because you're a goddamn chauvinist and no one is ever going to cure you of that! You thought I would be upset, you hid the nature of our assignment—"

"Good intentions count for nothing, Jen? You'd been through _enough_—"

"The road to hell is paved with good intentions!" she snarled. "Lack of information like this could have gotten me _killed_; your chivalrous plan would have backfired then, right, Jethro?"

"Jenny," he hissed, walking towards her. He grabbed her upper arm roughly, pulling her forward, "I wouldn't do anything to put you in danger and you damn well know it."

"Our jobs are dangerous, Jethro!" she shouted, wrenching away from him. "Face it! There's a chance one of us could die every day and I know that! I signed up for it! If we choose each other over the job, we could put others in danger—that's what you're doing! We've both done it, and if it happens again, we can't be partners anymore."

"I can't believe you're saying that," he growled.

"Why can't you just admit you were wrong?" Jenny yelled, her voice rising, her eyes brightening a little as Jethro noticed tears sprang to them. "You hurt me Jethro! You didn't have faith in me, you didn't think I was strong enough or something, something kept you from trusting me, why won't you just tell me you were wrong!"

He heard her voice crack, and he reached up to rub his forehead stiffly in frustration, sorry she'd reacted like this, sorry he had hurt her, but stubbornly refusing to relent. He didn't give a damn if it was old-fashioned. He didn't want her getting hurt. He would have kept her out of the firefight if he could.

Pulling his hand away, he narrowed his eyes and reached for her, but Jenny pushed her hands out, pressed them against his shoulders, and shoved him back, turning on her heel to leave the room. He caught up to her half way down the hall.

"Where are you going?"

"Out. I can't stand looking at you right now," she snarled hoarsely.

"No," he said forcefully, pinning one of her shoulders against the wall. She struggled, her eyes lighting up with anger, and he grabbed her other arm. "_No_," he repeated more forcefully, "last time you went off alone in this city I almost lost you. You can be pissed at me all you want but you're not leaving this house."

Jenny wrapped her hand around his on her shoulder and jerked it off of her, yanking her other arm out of his grip and reaching up to massage her shoulder.

"If you don't want to lose me," she said quietly, "you better start trusting me."

He studied her pointedly, letting her threat sink in, glaring at her. It was like everything had gone silent, not that there was much going on besides their fighting anyway. He refused to apologize. She didn't understand his reasoning. She didn't understand that he'd lost before, and it was worth pissing her off royally if it meant he wouldn't have to suffer that again.

The next thing he knew, he was kissing her.

Jenny moaned, half surprised, half outraged, when he grabbed her chin and kissed her passionately, pushing her back into the wall again. She could taste something contrite in his kiss but it didn't mean anything if he couldn't voice it. She grabbed a fistful of his shirt in her hand, digging nails into his skin through the material, and closed her eyes tightly. She pushed him back, holding him inches away from her.

"What do you want me to say?" he growled, shrugging.

She parted her lips, infuriated, exasperated, still reeling.

"What the hell does it matter?" she asked him, implying he didn't give a damn anyway. She leant her head back against the wall and closed her eyes again, losing her resolve to hold back tears until she was alone.

"Jen," he whispered hoarsely, his fingers running up her cheek as he stepped closer. He put his forehead close to hers. "Jenny," he wiped the falling tears away, the tension leaving him. He sighed heavily. "Don't cry," he pleaded quietly, kissing her cheek and pushing her hair back. He ran his hands up her shoulders soothingly.

She opened her eyes and looked at him, biting her bottom lip. She pushed him back again, gentler this time, and let go of his shirt. She looked like she was going to say something for a moment, but then she pressed her mouth together tightly and turned, dodging around him to the stairs. Her knuckles were white on the banister as she gripped it, the knuckles of her other hand pressed to her lips lightly. He heard her start again halfway up the stairs, her breathing quick and quiet.

Slamming his fist against the wall, Jethro backed up until his back hit the stairs and slid down the wall, dropping his head to his knees dejectedly and running his hands through his hair roughly. A door shut quietly upstairs and he banged his head back against the wall. The thought occurred to him that if Shannon had ever heard of him acting like this, she'd kill him. It was a thought that made him regret his actions more than anything.

* * *

Jenny couldn't decide if she was still angry with Jethro. She couldn't understand half of what she was feeling anymore, when she was around him. There was a lot going on in her mind and in her heart.

At the moment, she was rather blissfully uncaring of sorting through anything in her minefield of thoughts. There was too much hot water, soap, and steam in the way. She sighed and opened her eyes under the steady spray of water from the overhead, looking up through the waterfall and pressing her lips against Jethro's again, leaning into him for support, because the gentle motion of his hands rinsing shampoo out of her hair was weakening her knees.

She was thankful NCIS footed the bill for utilities, because they'd been in here way too long. Her toes were probably wrinkling, which wouldn't look any good with the open toed heels she planned on wearing tonight. Jethro was taking her out, his way—she thought—of making up. Or something. She wasn't sure what all he'd said when he'd picked the lock on her bedroom door and come in, coaxing her out of her tears and persuading her to get dressed up tonight. She just hadn't wanted him to see her crying, and he'd barged in anyway.

Jenny pressed butterfly kisses to his shoulder languidly, her tongue tracing the drops of water that raced down his skin. She held on to his waist lightly, preventing herself from slipping, blocking complicated thoughts from entering her mind right now. Jethro still worked the knots and soap from her hair patiently, lulling her almost to a sleep.

He disentangled his hands from her thick hair and wrapped his arms around her, dropping his head to her shoulder and kissing her neck lightly. He reached behind her and flicked off the water; chill bumps sprang up immediately all over her at the loss of warmth and she snuggled into him, angry or not. He swung back the shower curtain and snatched a fluffy towel off of the sink, wrapping it around her.

Jenny blinked water out of her eyes and looked up at him, clutching the towel around her shoulders and letting him take her upper arm so she wouldn't lose her balance and fall stepping out of the shower. She took the remaining towel off of the sink and handed it to him.

"Get dressed in your room," she ordered softly, wrapping her towel around her middle and securing it. She leaned lazily against the sink and opened the cracked door with her toes, wriggling them. She knew this would take infinitely longer if they tried to get ready to go in the same room.

Jethro leaned down and tucked a lock of dripping hair behind her ear, brushing his lips against hers as he slipped by her. Jenny shut the door soundlessly behind him and pulled the whole of her hair over one shoulder, shaking her hand through it a little so it would dry more easily. She flipped on the fan so the foggy mirror would unclog faster and started toweling off.

She was a little taken aback by Jethro's desire to take her to the Eiffel Tower. She wanted to go, she always had; she just didn't think it was a place he'd ever set foot near. She knew he was doing it for her, and she knew he was so good at knowing her inside and out; it was why she couldn't decided if she was ever really mad at him and not only frustrated.

That in and of itself made her angry.

Shaking out the towel, Jenny wrapped her hair up in it and left the bathroom, swinging her bedroom door shut as she passed and giving a brief thought to the lock Jethro had ruined breaking in. There was a reason to be angry.

Jenny opened her bureau silently and picked out a strapless black bra and black lace panties, shutting the drawer again with her knee as she sat on the bed and pulled them on. She opened the next drawer and maneuvered on some dark tinted pantyhose, careful not to draw a run in them like she usually managed to do. Jethro had never seen the dress she planned on wearing; she'd been saving it. She moved her clothing out of the way in the closet and carefully pulled the dress out with the hanger, holding it up to admire it before she delicately removed the hanger and untied the waist to loosen it.

Jenny stepped into it and adjusted the off the shoulder sleeves and neckline, tying the ribbon tightly around the waist and returning to the bathroom to make sure it fit the way it was supposed to. She smiled slightly and reached for her bag of cosmetics.

She could hear Jethro downstairs when she was finally ready; she knew he'd be ready at least half an hour before her because she took her time tonight. She slipped on her second shoe and examined the stiletto before she stood, picked up her second earring off of the bedside table, and left the room, her beauty regimen complete.

Jethro ran water over the coffee maker again in the kitchen, asking himself for the third time why the hell he had decided to clean it instead of just making some more. He turned the water off and was reaching for dish soap—again—when he heard Jenny's soft footfalls on the stairs. He dried his hands on a dishtowel and wandered down the hall, more than eager to see her.

Jenny stepped into the hall in front of him, her hand resting on the end of the banister, almost his equal in height on her stilettos. Jethro swallowed hard, looking at her. The dress was deep crimson, reminiscent of wine; it rested off of her fair shoulders and accentuated her waist perfectly, flaring out and whispering around her knees. Red teardrop earrings, flame-like stilettos, and soft apple lipstick matched. He reached out to touch her waist, his fingers running over the soft, cool fabric.

"You're going to freeze," he managed to say, eyes trailing back up to her arresting green eyes.

Jenny smiled a little, and shrugged one shoulder half-heartedly. Jethro cleared his throat and shrugged his suit jacked off of his shoulders, holding it out to her. She took it, lifting an eyebrow.

"You can wear that," he said gruffly, reaching out to touch one of her curls reverently. He liked it when she left her hair down and curled around her shoulders and neck.

"Are we walking?" she asked quietly, taking his hand away so he wouldn't mess her hair up. He shook his head slowly.

"I called a cab," he said. She smelled like she always did, intoxicating; like honey and orchids and something spicy he never could place. Jenny lifted an eyebrow as if impressed with him.

He stepped past her and opened the front door, and the gust of wind made her shiver. She clutched Jethro's jacket and went out the door; there was indeed a taxi waiting on the streets outside. The sidewalks were covered in a thin layer over powdery snow, and Jenny carefully avoided getting any on her toes. She opened the cab door and slid in before Jethro, neglecting to buckle her seatbelt and spreading his jacket over her lap. She turned and looked at him.

"Dinner?" she asked.

"_Le Jules Verne_," Jethro pronounced flawlessly, instructing the driver as well as answering her.

"You learned to speak French," Jenny said lightly. Jethro shrugged and pulled a face at her. She started to tease him lightly when it suddenly struck her what he'd said. "The restaurant _in_ the Eiffel Tower?" she asked hesitantly.

"You had to pronounce it to get a reservation," Jethro quipped slyly.

Jenny furrowed her brow a little.

"How the hell did you manage to get one…" she trailed off, taken aback again. It was exactly the kind of high-end, fancy place Jethro would despise, and on top of that, it was expensive. He smirked at her, in that omnipotent, arrogant way he had.

"You want to walk or take the lift?" Jethro asked casually.

"Stairs," Jenny said immediately, looking at him again. He nodded in acceptance.

"Stairs up to the second floor; that's where the restaurant is. If you want to go to the top though, we'll have to use the lift. It'll be after six."

Jenny pursed her lips.

"You did your research," she murmured. Then she nodded, settling back for the relatively short ride to the base of the Eiffel tower. "I want to go to the top," she said quietly, almost dreamily.

Jethro looked straight ahead and smiled a little to himself. At least he seemed to be redeeming himself in her eyes. When the taxi came to a swift stop at the entrance for the tower, Jethro paid the driver and held his hand out for her to take as she got out. He leaned down and kissed her ear as he reached behind her to shut the door, whispering:

"You're beautiful, Jen,"

"Suck up," she whispered back, wrinkling her nose at him in amusement. He grinned and released her hand as they walked towards the entrance.

"More than three hundred steps to the second floor, Jenny," muttered Jethro teasingly, his hand drifting to her lower back and resting lightly there. "Think you can handle it?"

"I don't know Jethro, but I'm sure glad you briefed me about them first," she hissed back sarcastically, keeping her tone light. Jethro looked down at her and raised an eyebrow. She just looked back, and he wasn't sure if she was kidding or actually reprimanding him.

At the foot of the stairs, she turned to him and touched his cheek patronizingly.

"Is it okay if I walk in front?" she asked, quirking an eyebrow mockingly.

"So I can catch you if you fall?" he asked, putting on airs of chivalry. Jenny smirked and turned the corner of her mouth up in approval.

"Nah," she said, tilting her head as she turned and rested her hand on the railing, "so I'll have something to land on if I fall."

He rolled his eyes behind her back and followed her up, determined to prevent her from falling anyway. Sexy as her heels were, they all but screamed accident waiting to happen.

Jenny had pulled his coat on and was pretty much swallowed in it, but he couldn't complain. He liked it when she wore his things; they always smelled like her afterwards and he was reluctant to get the smell out. She barely spoke as they climbed the long stairs, either because she had nothing to say or because she was out of breath, he didn't know. The air was ice cold and the trek was formidable, but it had a sort of romance to it. It was the Eiffel tower, after all.

Jenny turned to him when they finally—_finally_—reached the second floor and smiled a little, her cheeks slightly redder with the cold and the workout.

"I need a drink," she told him with a soft laugh, and he grinned, agreeing wholeheartedly. He doubted this place served bourbon, but he'd bet money there'd be a pretty strong wine available.

They were seated near the outer area of the restaurant, away from the other people and closer to the view of the city. Jenny casually shrugged his coat off of her shoulders and slipped her arms out of it, resting them on the table in front of her. It was a quiet, luxurious atmosphere, with impeccable tablecloths, shining silverware, and softly flickering candles. She resisted the urge to giggle at the sight of Jethro in the midst of such frippery.

"I feel like I should break something," she whispered conspiratorially, as the waiter approached them. Jethro smirked. There were reasons he loved Jenny.

She ordered the wine in her perfectly accented French, keeping her conversation with the tense looking waiter short and concise, showing little interest in him. Jethro appreciated it, considering tense waiter's wandering eyes were showing more than a _little_ interest in Jenny.

"What are they serving tonight?" Jenny asked, placing her napkin in her lap.

"Something frilly, salad, steak, something else frilly, and something weird," Jethro answered.

It was Jenny's turn to roll her eyes. She sat back silently as the waiter returned and poured their wine, leaving the bottle in a small, chilled bucket for them to use at leisure.

"You know which fork to use on your salad?" Jenny asked, quirking an eyebrow as she lifted her wineglass.

"I already told you I don't eat rabbit food."

"You better eat it. They charge your firstborn child for it," Jenny snorted.

Briefly, Jethro's eyes flashed, almost too quickly for her to notice—but she did. He looked momentarily upset, but still hardly missed a beat in his response.

"I'm charging this to Vance's undercover budget."

Jenny laughed good-naturedly, tasting the wine. It was strong, and spun her senses, but she liked it. She licked her lips and looked at the imprint of her lipstick on the rim of the glass, glancing at Jethro over the rim. He smirked.

Jenny shifted and glanced out over the expanse of Paris, her eyes roaming over the lit up buildings and tiny cars moving around below.

"It's a different city from up here," she said. "Pretty," she added.

Jethro didn't say anything. He watched her profile, drank in her neckline, glared at the waiter when he came with the first course and dared to flick covetous eyes at Jenny. Jenny admired the view silently, and snapped out of it after a few minutes to eat her food.

"My father brought my mother to Paris when I was three," she said quietly, folding lettuce leaves with her fork methodically. "He brought me a cashmere blanket with my name embroidered on it back. I still have it, somewhere," she murmured thoughtfully.

Jethro remained carefully quiet. The few times Jenny mentioned family, she spoke of her mother. She had only mentioned her father once before in conversation, beyond that she only mumbled about him in her nightmares. She looked up at him across the table and smiled

"He promised me he'd take me one day."

"Yeah?" Jethro questioned hesitantly. He was wary of asking questions about her family. "He never did?"

Jenny looked at him passively, and then slowly shook her head.

"Didn't get the chance," she mumbled, stopping short with a shrug.

"Diane wanted to go to Paris, for the honeymoon," Jethro said gruffly, changing the subject as he noticed her mood waver. Jenny cocked an eyebrow at him curiously.

"Oh?"

"I took her to St. Augustine," Jethro finished.

Jenny laughed, tilting her head back.

"Close enough," she quipped. She lifted her wineglass again and smiled a little wickedly, "I'm sure Diane would be thrilled to know you're in Paris with me."

Jethro smirked. He thought that fact might cheer Jenny up a little.

He was glad she seemed to be responding to him. The fighting earlier had been a little unorthodox; they hadn't really made up but then again they never really did. They just ignored their problems. He just wanted Jenny to stay happy. It was easier to distract from the problems instead of face them.

They moved through courses smoothly. When time came for the main meal, Jenny refilled the wineglasses with a wry smile.

"Good thing there's a lift to the top floor," she said, picking up her knife and surveying the asparagus stalks and _steak au poivre_ the waiter had left them. She bit her lip, looking at him like he'd done well. She stabbed an asparagus stalk and bit off the end sharply; Jethro made a face.

The man really didn't like his vegetables.

Jenny cut into her steak and forked a piece, holding it up with a mild lift of her eyebrows.

"I hope you like your steak raw," she said, showing him the red meat. Jethro looked at suspiciously.

"I don't think its _dead_," he said drily. Jenny ate the small bit with a smile and swallowed.

"The French eat their meat raw," she said, cutting off another piece. She crinkled her nose a little. "Better like pepper too," she added, "a _lot_." He smiled. Pepper, he could handle.

The pepper stung her mouth, but the wine washed it down easily, though she was careful not to have too much. She didn't want alcohol going to her head and breaking her down in tears again or something funny like that—which it very well might.

She noticed, halfway through her steak, Jethro really seemed to be refusing to eat his asparagus, and hers were all gone. She was beginning to get jealous of his abundance of asparagus. In an underhanded action, she curled her leg around his under the table and cut her eyes at him, stealing two or three of his asparagus stalks while he was considerably distracted.

He looked confused when she released his leg, glancing around. He noticed what she'd done and scowled at her, picking up his plate with a patronizing look and brushing the rest of his asparagus onto his plate.

"All you had to do was ask, Jen,"

"The other way was more fun," she said, with a delighted smile at the vegetable.

"It's snowing," Jethro pointed out dully, nodding behind her. Jenny twisted, pausing with her fork in another asparagus, and looked out, watching the tiny flakes fall slowly. She smiled at the landscape laid out before her and when she turned around, finished her meal silently with that same smile.

Jethro couldn't have been more pleased with the weather's decision to snow than if he'd ordered it to himself.

"I don't think dessert is an option," Jenny said as she looked.

"Jen," Jethro said solemnly, "you want to be able to say you had dessert in the Eiffel Tower."

She looked at him with amused eyes, and nodded, accepting the statement. She leaned forward a little as she picked up her wine and said:

"Is that your way of suggesting you'll eat mine?"

He smirked, and nodded to the waiter when he asked in fairly accurate English if they would have the dessert. Jenny ate a few bites and pushed it away, unwilling to make herself sick on it. Jethro didn't each much of his either, whining that it was too sweet. Jenny personally felt he had a problem with eating something that had decorative sugar flowers all over it.

He pointed to the ceiling as Jenny finished her wine and she nodded, pushing back her chair and picking up his coat as she stood up. She rested it over her arm and fell into step next to him as they made their way to the lift. It was past ten o'clock now, and the last lift to the top was at eleven. They weren't the only ones taking this particular lift; there were a few other couples and a small group of students.

Jenny smiled at the older couple standing close to them; amused at the way the woman was fixing her partner's bowtie.

"You want to be squished in the back or up front?" Jethro muttered in her ear.

"Squished," she said, just to watch him scowl at her. His hand fell to her back again as he followed her on. Jenny leaned into the back corner of the lift and smiled at him lopsidedly; biting back a snort as the teenage boy next to him accidentally elbowed his shoulder.

Jethro glared at the miscreant and he shrank away, looking subdued. Jenny poked Jethro in the side and pulled him towards her a little, rolling her eyes. The others got off the elevator first, and Jethro prodded Jenny to leave before him.

She stepped out onto the third, top floor of the Eiffel Tower and looked over the replica of Gustav Eiffel's office and smiled softly. It was really hard to believe she was actually standing here.

Jethro stood behind her, looking over her shoulder, and smiled at the back of her head, admittedly pleased with himself. He hung back as Jenny started her prowl around the quaint exhibit, taking in the sight interestedly. He resorted to watching those suspicious teenagers and keeping an eye on the others up here, just to make sure none of them were undercover assassins here to hurt Jenny. That was highly unlikely, but he could never be too careful. He found his way over to a place out of the way and waited for Jenny to find her way back over to him, taking the time to look out over the view himself.

She appeared at his side after a few more minutes, resting her head on his arm voluntarily and touching his side.

"Look at the stars," she sighed, pointing a little. She was right; you could see the stars from the top, clearly and perfectly. Jenny shifted his jacked on her arm and pursed her lips a little as something knocked against her thigh that she hadn't noticed before, from the pocket of the coat.

She reached for it, but Jethro moved her hand and got into the pocket first, producing her camera.

"Thought you might want it," he said mildly, shrugging. Jenny looked at it disbelievingly. She quirked an eyebrow at him and stepped away a little, reaching for it. He stepped back and held it out of the way, putting his finger on the shutter button. Jenny settled back on her heels and pressed her lips together in a small smile; he captured the moment, with the city of Paris spread out behind her, perfectly.

"Cute, Jethro," she murmured, taking the camera from him. She held it up and snapped a picture of him in retaliation, earning herself a glare. She held the camera away from him and smiled softly again.

"Excuse me," Jenny turned in surprise at being spoken to, to face the older woman who she'd been amused by outside the lift. The lady smiled at her sweetly and gestured to the camera. "Would you like a picture of the two of you?" she asked nicely.

Jenny looked at Jethro with a smirk and handed the camera to the woman.

"We'd love one," she said, knowing it would kill Jethro. He scowled at her and she pulled him closer by the fabric of his shirt, touching her hair self-consciously as he slipped his arm around her waist indulgently. Jenny gave the woman and the camera a genuine smile and the woman clicked the picture, handing the camera back with her own smile.

"_Merci_," Jenny said gratefully.

"_De rien_," the woman replied with a laugh. She gave a small wave and returned to the man Jenny assumed was her husband. Jenny turned to Jethro and looked at him closely.

"If you didn't smile, I'll castrate you," she threatened with a smile.

"Who would that hurt more, me or you?" he quipped.

"I think we established last night you're the one who can't do without me," she answered primly, lifting an eyebrow.

Jethro cupped her chin in response and pushed her back a little into the shadows for a swift kiss, ignoring his usual dislike for public displays of affection. Jenny looked at him, unreadable, when it was over, her eyes guarded again.

He could sense she wasn't herself still. He knew she was still upset and still hurt. He didn't know a way to fix it without turning back time, and he'd still probably do the same thing. He didn't want to bring it up again lest he upset her. Jenny turned towards the view of Paris and he wrapped his arms around her shoulders, resting his chin on the crown of her head.

It occurred to Jenny to tell him she loved him; but she didn't. She couldn't bring herself to say it again. She kept feeling like it was going to backfire on her, though Jethro had said it more to her than she had to him. That wasn't usually how it worked between men and women.

Jenny shivered in his arms and the kissed her throat, rubbing her arms quickly to warm her.

"Want to head home?" he asked.

Jenny took his hand and twisted it to look at his watch. It was nearing time for close anyway. She turned in his arms and nodded shortly, disentangling herself and leading him to the lift. The other people were lingering; the lift down wasn't as crowded as the one up. This time she opted for the lift down all the way; the stairs had been a fun experience once and only once.

Back on the ground, on the green that spread out under the Eiffel Tower, Jenny slipped Jethro's jacket back on and slipped her hand into his uncharacteristically as they walked. There was no way to keep the snow from seeping through her hose onto her feet now, and she was beginning to feel like her toes were icicles.

"Jethro," she said softly, stroking his fingers with her thumb, "rule number one?"

"Never screw over your partner," he answered instantly, without even thinking. She stopped and turned to him, alone on this particular pathway in the snowy moonlight. She looked up at him, her hand in his, sharply, pointedly.

"You screwed me over," she said quietly, and before he could brush off the accusation with a lewd joke, she shook her head slightly, "When you didn't brief me. You don't understand how reading that file made me feel," she paused and swallowed, "you probably never will. I don't care. Don't ever do it again."

He looked at her impassively. His jaw tight, he ran his hand up her arm and pulled her in a little. She resisted, refusing to look away from his blue eyes.

"Rule number eight," she prompted hoarsely.

"Never take anything for granted," he responded slowly.

She just looked at him; her eyes clear about what he was supposed to understand from that statement. She wasn't to be taken for granted.

"I don't, Jen," he said huskily, putting his face close to hers.

"You better not," she said a little sharply.

"Rule eighteen?" he murmured softly. He knew it was her favorite, and had a damn good right to use it against her. He felt her brow furrow a little as she tried to work through it. _It's better to seek forgiveness than ask permission. _

Jenny rolled her eyes a little and gave a small, exasperated smile.

"You could just say you're sorry," she hissed, kissing the corner of his mouth. She put her hands on either side of his neck and held his gaze. "I forgive you," she added, kissing him softly. She drew it out, warming her lips with the kiss.

His cell phone's sharp, annoying ring broke the moment and she parted her lips, stepping back a little as he reached in his pocket to answer it. He put his arm around her shoulders and hugged her as he flicked open the phone.

"Gibbs," he barked, and listened silently.

Jenny watched his expression harden and his eyes go almost blank. She snuggled into him slightly, stealing his body heat, and continued look up at him, until he grunted an affirmative, repeated a location in a low murmur, and hung up the phone.

He looked at her stonily for a moment and slipped the phone back into his pocket.

"Vance," he informed her quietly, and she understood without an explanation.

"Tonight?" she asked dully. He nodded.

She gave him a curt nod in return and pulled away, turning to begin the walk to catch a taxi home and change clothes for a different kind of outing. Jethro's hand pressed heavily into her lower back again, leading her; the trip home was silent and tense.

* * *

_Oh, yeah. There was something I forgot: The bit where Jenny says she and Jethro can't be partners anymore if they keep making bad choices is modeled after a conversation between Olivia Benson and Elliot Stabler in Law and Order: SVU._


	27. Bulletproof

_A/N: Thanks to Aly! _

_"The last time we had steak au poivre, six people died." --Jennifer Shepard, Season3Episode"Family Secret"._

**

* * *

**

"Are we walking or driving?" Jenny asked quietly, the red dress falling to the ground at her feet.

She stepped out of it and shook back her hair, looking at Jethro across the bed as she sat down and carefully removed her pantyhose. He didn't even look up from his examination of his weapon.

"Driving," he answered, loading the SIG. Jenny nodded, though he didn't see her.

She pulled on a pair of black jeans and a clinging grey sweater, neutral enough clothes to keep her warm and also keep out of the way. Jenny determinedly put on her flat-soled black boots and made sure they fit snugly around her calves, concealing her weapon at the small of her back beneath her sweater. Complying with rule nine, there was a switchblade tucked into the boot on her foot. She looked briefly at Jethro as she passed, walking into the bathroom and picking up a brush to fix her hair out of the way.

"How is this going to go down, Jethro?" she asked mechanically.

She listened expressionlessly to Jethro speak as she brushed her curled hair out mechanically.

"Vance orchestrated the meet," he said slowly, "four targets. Two of them were directly responsible for Olivia's death. Leon arrives with them, we wait for them to settle in, and we strike."

Jenny wrapped her hair into a high ponytail that curled at the nape of her neck and tucked the escaped strands of her hair behind her ears. She laid the brush carefully down and exited the bathroom, leaning against the door as she fiddled with the light switch.

"We're outnumbered," she pointed out shrewdly.

"Only by one," Jethro said gruffly, "and we have the element of surprise."

She gave him a hard, calculating look.

"If one someone ends up dead?" she asked.

He didn't answer her, instead standing up and holstering his gun beneath his windbreaker, giving her a pointed look that plainly ordered her not to think that way. He crossed the distance from the bed to the doorway, pausing to place one hand behind her on the wood and lean in, his blue eyes boring into hers.

He touched her cheek reverently and then lifted her chin up, pressing his mouth to hers quickly and reassuringly.

"The only deaths tonight are sanctioned," he said roughly, pressing another kiss to her jaw before he released her and turned purposefully towards the stairs. Jenny gave his back a faraway look as he descended and reached out absently to flick off the bedroom light. She followed him silently, acutely aware of the gun at her back and the blade in her boot.

At the door, he picked the keys to the car up from the hook and Jenny reached up silently and took them, breezing out the front door before he had time to protest. She needed to drive; she had to be doing something. He had done things like this before, in this job, maybe—certainly as a sniper in the corps. She hadn't. She was new at this, and she wasn't sure she could sit and think about it for an entire car ride.

"Where are we going?" Jenny asked dully, when Jethro had given her a rude glare from the passenger seat for taking the keys.

"_Monceau_," Jethro answered gruffly.

Jenny nodded curtly, revving up the car and starting off toward their destination. It was a picturesque garden in the Champs-Elysees district; one Jenny didn't particularly fancy carrying out assassinations in. It was relatively nearby without being too near to their residence, and she knew how to get there. It would be closed to the public now and all but empty.

"Why a place so common for tourism?" she muttered, for the sake of conversation.

"Targets are in deep with the French police," Jethro mumbled back, checking the glove compartment for the weapon and extra case of bullets they kept there. He rummaged through the other bits of things in the compartment absently. "Police turn a blind eye to them using restricted places for illicit business if they get kickbacks," Jethro extracted a pair of leather gloves from the compartment and slammed it closed. "Tourist park like this will be empty of bystanders this late."

Jenny nodded in understanding.

"And cops, if they're turning a blind eye," she asserted knowingly. Jethro grunted in affirmation. He watched the road carefully and reached over to lay the pair of gloves on Jenny's thigh as she drove. She flicked her eyes down at them and over to him in question.

"Wear them, Jen," he said forcefully, "You're hands will keep warm and you'll shoot better."

"What about you?" she fired back, looking pointedly at his hands. She pressed her foot against the gas pedal to avoid a red light, earning a horn from another car as she ran it instead.

"I'm not cold," Jethro said.

Jenny rolled her eyes.

She swerved around a corner and took a back road, a short cut; to the place they wanted to go, just for the hell of it and to get out of traffic so she could hit the gas a little faster.

"Easy, Jen," he muttered in apprehension, giving her a look for the driving.

"I learned from the best," she retorted, returning the look.

She quieted into tense silence, and he stared at her for nearly the rest of the ride. It didn't occur to him that she was getting increasingly pissed with the concerned stare. As she found a place to park the car, rather away from Monceau Parc's entrance, she quietly turned off the ignition.

She released the buckle on her seatbelt and turned to open the door; Jethro caught her hand. He placed a cold metal cylinder in her hand and she looked at it, wrapping her fingers around it tightly with a short nod. She pulled her gun out from its place at her lower back and fastened the silencer on it easily, looking up at Jethro as he did the same.

He ran his hand over the finished effect and without looking at her, said quietly:

"You need to relax, Jenny."

Her voice brittle, she didn't waste a second in responding:

"Unlike you, Jethro, I've hardly had time to prepare myself for this assignment."

It was a cold reminder that she wasn't yet forgiving him for failing to brief her. She got out of the car fluidly, shutting the door without a sound, and he followed suit, coming swiftly around the front of it to catch her before she could march off.

"Wait," he said sharply, taking her arm gently. "You get pissed Jen, and you start making mistakes—dammit, yes you do," he growled sharply, cutting off her protest before she could get a word out.

Her eyes flashed, but she stayed silent. Wordlessly, she slipped on the leather gloves Jethro had handed her, arching an eyebrow at him defiantly.

"Calm down," he ordered tersely.

Jenny leaned back against the car, relaxing her shoulders into it.

"Time?" she asked quietly.

"Almost midnight," he said gruffly.

"How very cliché," Jenny quipped sarcastically.

"Not sure Cinderella bitched as much as you, Jen," Jethro muttered under his breath.

Jenny lifted both eyebrows in mild amusement, pursing her lips a little. She gave him a small smile and straightened up.

"I never was one for glass slippers," she mused, stepping off towards the park. She threw a teasing smirk over her shoulder. "Coming, fairy godmother?"

Scowling slightly at the moniker, Jethro followed, catching up in a few swift strides. He glanced up at the inky, cloudy sky, trying to find the moon. It was a sliver behind a cloud, thin and waning after its full peak on Halloween. It barely cast a ghostly light on anything.

His eyes adjusting to the murky dark of the Paris Night, Jethro began taking in the green surroundings of the park, noting places for cover and places it would be bad to be caught alone, keeping his trained senses alert for signs of movement or other indications of life. His phone, along with Jenny's, was off and in the car. They couldn't risk alerting targets to their presence by having cells on them.

The park was pretty, even in the dark. He could see the dark shapes of well-kept flowers and trees, cultivated gardens and paths. He and Jenny weren't following anything specifically; when he caught a glimpse of statuesque stone columns, he rested his hand against Jenny's lower back and turned her towards him with a sharp nod in their direction.

In a myriad of trees, the old columns surrounded a pond in a semi-circle, standing old, tall and proud. The pond was covered in a glittery sheen of ice due to the cold, and powdery snow coated the bushes and branches around it.

Halfway behind a column and in an alcove of trees and brush, Jethro pulled Jenny close in the shadows, his hand falling readily to his gun at his waist. Over his shoulder and past the column hiding them, the trees opened up to a clearing on the bank of the pond, where the path was lined by benches. Jenny looked away from the targeted area and up at Jethro.

Towering over her, he stepped close and angled his mouth towards her ear, so he could speak quietly without a chance of being over heard by any nearby, sharp listeners.

"You get the first shot, Jen," he hissed strategically, his voice gone of emotion, "create the panic. Don't miss. Vance cannot move until we do or his cover is blown and he ends up dead; I take the next two shots in quick succession and Vance takes the final. That takes care of all four. If you see Vance hesitate a second, Jen, or if you think he didn't make a kill shot—take out his target,"

"You don't trust him to?" Jenny whispered.

"I want this over," Jethro growled neutrally. "I know you'll make the shot."

Jenny smiled to herself. It meant a lot to her to hear him say that. She stepped closer to Jethro and rested her gaze over his shoulder, watching the clearing sharply for the approach of people. She eased her gun out from the small of her back and rested her arm against his chest, the cold metal of the silencer cushioned against his windbreaker.

Mentally kicking himself for what he was about to say, Jethro turned his head so his lips brushed her ear as he asked:

"Can you make this shot, Jen?"

The warning growl he received in return was his confirmation that there was no way in hell she'd miss this shot. All he had to do was challenge her abilities and she'd prove herself beyond belief; it was a trait that made her excel.

"Hear that?" Jethro mumbled.

She shook her head in denial a few inches. With a marine's ears, he listened again to the sound of a leaf crunching here, a pebble moving there. One of the sounds seemed off—no, a few. His brow furrowed slightly; he gripped his gun and started moving it out of his holster.

"Jen," he warned, his hand brushing her stomach, his gut starting to wrench unexpectedly. She made an almost inaudible noise of inquiry in the back of her throat. He swore the approach sounded louder than it should, for four people, not including Vance.

"One in sight," Jenny murmured calmly. "Two," she added.

Jethro was still hearing noise.

"Vance," Jenny murmured, having heard Jethro describe his tall stature and African American ethnicity. Jethro had to bite back a derisive snort when she asked, in an irritated tone under her breath: "What the hell is he chewing on?"

Jethro swallowed hard, trying to discern why he was feeling so uneasy. It was the feeling he used to get in the corps before something went wrong with a tactical move or in cases when he'd underestimated or figured wrong.

Something was _off_.

Jenny cocked her gun, and he was momentarily distracted by the fact that she was still pressing the tip into his chest.

"Jenny,"

"I'm not going to shoot you, Jethro,"

He wasn't exactly sure he should trust her. She was a little displeased with him, and she could also easily make it look accidental.

Jenny lifted her gun and settled it on his shoulder. It suddenly occurred to him she was going to make her shot over his shoulder, and probably deafen him. He briefly wondered of the deafening part had occurred to her and cursed to himself, deciding it probably had and he was probably being punished.

"Three, four," Jenny said in quick succession, her breath tickling his ear. She shifted her hand up, grasping her gun steadily between two leather-clad hands balanced on his shoulder.

"Wait," Jethro breathed, straining his ears in the silence. He heard Vance's deep growl of a voice murmuring in French, and the soft, feminine murmurs of the Frenchmen he was with.

Jenny's muscles stiffened suddenly, and he felt her wrists tighten on his shoulder as she gripped her gun.

"Five?" she hissed hesitantly, and Jethro's pulse quickened. He lifted his own gun against his shoulder, turning and catching her eye sharply as she glanced at him. Anger and slight confusion coursed through him. Outnumbered by one was dangerous enough.

Branches snapped to their right, towards the pond and clump of trees and flowery bushes. Jethro maneuvered his hand to rest around Jenny's waist, holding his gun out in the suspicious direction.

"Scout…" he muttered, and cursed violently under his breath, "_Fuck_."

Jenny startled a little, unaccustomed to hearing him use that particular swear word.

"Six?" she sounded uneasy.

"_Arettez-vous_!"

The cold, sharp shout from the right froze Jenny's blood in her veins. It happened so fast. She turned her head sharply, saw the man step towards them, his gun raised—a damn big gun—his eyes sharp and foreboding, and then Jethro's hand tensed at her back and his bullet ripped through the man's jugular at an almost impossible trajectory, leaving her stunned again at Jethro's shooting capabilities.

She gasped, half in panic, half in relief, a surreal, suspended moment in a second of time…

…before a volley of bullets from the clearing by the pond erupted violently around them.

Barely flinching, Jenny fired her weapon rapidly in quick succession.

"One," she snapped, and he took it to mean she acquired her target.

"MOVE," he shouted, pushing her backwards roughly. They couldn't afford to be cornered. She caught her balance easily and he swiveled around, stepping out from behind the column and took a speedy assessment of the situation.

The element of surprise was gone, Vance's hands were tied, and he was facing four combatants, excluding the target Jenny had incapacitated.

"_Merde!"_

Jethro dodged a badly aimed bullet, half-distracted by a sharp gasp from the direction he knew Jenny was in; He fired a pristine shot directly into the forehead of his closest opponent, watching with cold indifference as the target dropped to the ground like a rock. A spray of bullets erupted to his right—one of them marching forward with military precision.

Jenny's slim figure appeared, a shadow, to the side, catching the man off guard. She double tapped his chest from a side angle, exhibiting a bit of talent she'd picked up from Jethro's rigorous training on the range.

The two remaining produced weapons, one a sleek handgun and the other a formidable automatic that chilled Jethro to the bone.

Jenny's resolve faltered as she saw Vance standing stiffly next to the man with the automatic, his hand awkwardly at his hip where a gun was no doubt holstered. A sharp shout from the man with a handgun towards Vance prompted him to draw a weapon and point it at Jethro—frightened by the action, aware of Vance and Jethro's dislike for each other, Jenny turned her head, letting out a strangled shout. In the blink of an eye, Jethro was obstructing her view and all she heard was a loud, deafening _crack_! before he stumbled back heavily and fell into her, the entirety of his weight overwhelming her and taking her to the ground.

In a quick flash, she saw Vance's gun switch directly to the man with the automatic and fire directly into the back of his skull. Her arm tightening vice-like around Jethro's shoulders from the ground, Jenny whipped her gun over his shoulder, struggling under his weight, her breath knocked out, and fired with deadly precision between the eyes of the man who's handgun was still aimed at Jethro on the ground, killing him instantly as the final bullets the automatic had released before its owner's death whistled past her head.

Letting out a strangled scream that faded into a sob as her last victim fell, she turned her weapon on Leon Vance as he approached, his gun still out menacingly. Blinded by the panic that had suddenly over taken her, dizzy with the coppery smell of blood assaulting her, she aimed at him, fury and terror coursing through her blood.

His hand went up, he slanted his gun at an angle in a passive gesture, and when she noticed the action, she aimed slightly high and in a shot that would make Jethro proud, cracked off a shot that ripped through the first layer of skin on his shoulder as his penance for screwing them over.

"Goddammit!" she heard him curse in pain, his breath drawing in. He chucked his weapon away, but Jenny had already averted her attention. She dropped her gun like it had burned her, her hands frantically falling to the place at Jethro's side where his jacket and shirt were slowly soaking through with blood. She pressed her gloved hand against the wound, willing herself to breathe, her vision swimming with tears, her ears ringing.

"_Jethro_!" she shouted hoarsely, looking down at him. He looked pale. His gun rested on the grass beside him. Wincing, Jenny extracted herself from under his dead weight, yanking him up with all of her strength, her arm still around his shoulders. "Jethro," she said weakly, pressing into the wound.

He coughed and groaned, opening his eyes. He looked a little confused, his eyes clouded with pain.

"Jen, you're bleeding," he said gruffly, pushing her hand away from his side and touching her face. She shuddered as his hand smeared his own blood across her cheek and grabbed his hand, using it to help her stem the wound. She heard Vance's quick footsteps halt next to her as she cursed at Jethro and brushed a second hand away from her.

"Not me, you bastard," she shouted tersely, her voice trembling. So many emotions were ripping through her now.

"Keep your voice down," snarled Vance, crouching beside her.

She turned a livid countenance on him, her cheeks red and her eyes ablaze with rage.

"You goddamn son of a bitch," she hissed, and he looked at her with steely eyes. He ignored her and ripped her hand away, pushing aside Jethro's windbreaker and yanking up his shirt to look at the wound.

Paling at the sight, Jenny gave a shuddering gasped and willed herself not to look away. Her head spun. Dark crimson blood stained his entire side, seeping onto everything, coloring the grass. The bullet wound was burned, nasty, and looked deep.

Jenny moaned, distressed, her eyes going in desperation to his face.

"He'll live," Vance said roughly, yanking the shirt back down.

"He damn well better," Jenny snarled, violently wrenching Vance's hand out of the way and replacing her smaller, gentler one on Jethro's wound, noticing sharply that his skin tone turned ghostly white at the touch. She murmured incoherently under her breath hand then turned fiery eyes on Vance again.

"Get us out of here," she ordered, shaking, unable to drive in this condition. "Stage the scene," she ordered forcefully, turning her full attention to Jethro. Vance gave her a violent curse and stood up, going to it. She sensed in him a knowledge that he had done wrong.

He had caused this.

"Jethro," she almost whimpered, reaching up to stroke his cheek while Vance was not near.

"You hurt?" he asked gruffly, but his voice sounded shallow.

"Stop worrying about me, dammit," she almost shouted, hoarse and worried.

Struggling, Jethro sat up, brushing her hand at his cheek away.

"Don't—" Jenny protested in a strangled voice, but he ignored her, wincing as he straightened and drew a leg up, recovering. "You're bleeding a lot, Jethro," she said in a scared whisper, and he looked over at her through clouded vision to see the panic in her eyes.

"Had it worse, Jen," he said, with a smirk.

"I'm going to kill him," Jenny hissed.

"Not now," Vance said from behind her, sternly, crouching down again to look at them. "We've got to get out. Now. There's no way that shoot out wasn't heard."

"There were a few more guns than expected," Jenny said sharply, coldly.

"I'll explain later," Vance snarled, giving her a short look, "let's _go_."

Jethro bent one leg under himself and was staggering up, using Jenny's shoulder as a prop, before she could protest. She squeaked in surprised, winced under his weight, and stood up quickly to provide support, which he brushed off.

Sharply grabbing his arm, Jenny slung it around her shoulder and wrapped one arm around his waist, stemming the flow of blood as best she could from the angle. Jethro hissed at her in pain, leaning on her a little more than she knew he wanted to, hunching a little against his wound.

She shot Vance a look of hatred and he beckoned sharply, handing her both Jethro's and her gun as he started to walk. With quick reflexes, Jethro took the gun and slipped one back at the small of Jenny's back and held the other, still determined to protect even when he was the one down this time.

The walk seemed forever, and Jenny could feel her panic and emotional upheaval heightening as the darkness shrouded them further. Vance led them to an obscure path where three cars were parked; he picked out a sleek, deep red sports car from the mix.

"Unregistered," he barked, opening the doors with the press of a high-tech button.

Jenny helped Jethro into the backseat, pushing him back against the opposite door as she slammed hers behind her. She shoved his windbreaker off of his shoulders and folded it haphazardly, pressing it firmly against his side.

"Drive!" she shouted at Vance angrily, without looking at him. He gunned it.

"I wish we could have met under more pleasant circumstances, Miss Shepard," Vance said tersely from the front seat, almost sarcastically.

"_Agent_ Shepard, you pompous bastard," Jenny barked, receiving a weak smirk from Jethro, "and if by _pleasant_ you mean you in a goddamn grave then yeah, likewise."

She focused her attention on Jethro, her hand flying to his pale forehead. He was broken out in sweat, his breathing getting lighter. His pulse was still strong.

"I hurt you when I fell?" he asked.

"Shut-up," Jenny snapped, her hand running over his torso, one hand resting briefly at his heart, irrationally making sure it was still beating. "Save your breath."

She looked up sharply, trying to keep herself busy, at a loss of what to do for Jethro, burdened by the sudden need to spill her guts to him emotionally—something made impossible by Vance's irritating presence. With calculating eyes, she glanced out the darkly tinted car window.

"Where the hell are we going?" she asked.

"Your safe-house," Vance answered coolly, "it's the only protected place."

"He needs medical attention!" Jenny yelled viciously, almost jumping into the front seat.

"I'm afraid we can't risk that, _Agent_ Shepard," Vance shouted back, obviously fed up with her. "The bullet wound is clean: get out the metal, cauterize the wound, don't let it get infected and your boss is fine," he turned and gave her a sardonic look, "though I'm sure with your nursing he'll improve much faster."

Anger flashed for the thousandth time in her emerald eyes and she dragged her self back into the backseat with Jethro, her jaw clenched tight to restrain herself from throwing a volley of marine-worthy curses in Vane's direction.

Whatever he meant, whatever he was implying—she would kill him for it. She took pleasure in the red stain trickling down Vance's arm from the clip she'd given him with her gun. She did not feel the slightest need to justify it as an accident. She had every damn reason to shoot him. He had all but ambushed them, and he made her skin crawl.

Kneeling in the floorboards uncomfortable behind Vance's seat, Jenny pressed firmly against Jethro's bullet wound, desperate not to let him lose any more blood than necessary.

"Jesus, Jenny, ease up," he growled, knocking her hand away when she applied a little excess of pressure. He closed his eyes and rested his own hand against his side; Jenny drew her hands back, taken aback by the rough outburst, hurt a little. The car jerked and she was thrust forward into him. Jethro hissed and cursed sharply, reaching up to steady her.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, her voice breaking a little. She hesitated, her hand hovering above his side, briefly hypnotized by the amount of blood on him. It was such an arresting sight, so weakening and sobering. She'd never seen him injured before. Not like this.

"Snap out of it," Jethro ordered, his hand touching her face. She felt the warm, sticky blood on his hand stain her face again and she closed her eyes, holding back tears. "Damn good job back there, Jen."

"Stop talking," was all she could whisper.

She couldn't bring herself to say anything after that, for fear her resolve would fail her.

She fished the key out of his pocket with trembling fingers when Vance parked the sleek car on the street outside the Paris townhouse. She handed it to him with a cold look when he opened the back car door and got out, watching with trepidation as Jethro sat up—hiding his winces—and hauled himself out of the car using the door for support. He held the windbreaker, soaked in his blood now, against his side and grinned. He nodded at Vance as Jenny wrapped an arm around his and shut the car door gently.

"Who got him?" he asked.

"I did," Jenny answered curtly, not batting an eyelid. Jethro lifted an eyebrow, looking impressed.

"On—"

"Damn right it was on purpose," she snapped, pulling Jethro's arm around her again and walking up towards the house.

Vance held the door open, and Jenny marched straight past him to the kitchen. Dragging out a chair from the table with her foot, she propped the back of it easily against the table and eased Jethro into it as much as he would let her, crouching down onto her knees next to him. She heard Vance locking the deadbolts on the house, and he appeared in the kitchen moments later.

"Gibbs, first aid," he said gruffly.

"Bedroom at the base of the stairs," Jethro answered, catching Jenny's hand as she reached for his wound again and holding her off, "Under the bathroom sink."

Vance disappeared.

Stubbornly ignoring Jethro's staying hands, Jenny thrust them out of her way and removed the windbreaker, trying her hardest not to look at the blood covering it. Her throat locked up as she started pushing his shirt up next, peeling it away from the ripped and tender flesh, her hands shaking as she listened to his almost concealed intake of breath. Once she got it over his head, she immediately plastered it against his side.

"Hold it there," she murmured, standing up and taking a washcloth out of a drawer. She ran it under lukewarm water in the sink, looking across the kitchen at him.

He leaned his head back in the chair, his eyes closed, and she bit her lip to steady it. His side, his pants, his hands, and the other parts of his clothing were covered in blood, pools of it, and random splatters of it. She couldn't stand to see it and she couldn't stand the smell of it. If this was how he felt when he found her that night Olivia disappeared, she forgave him for every overbearing, protective action he'd ever performed—even if his over-protectiveness has caused this.

Jenny swallowed hard, wringing out the rag. She returned to Jethro's side as Vance entered with Ducky's medical bag and a first aid kit. He placed them on the table and opened them both, rummaging around. Jenny watched him wearily as she took her cloth and dabbed gently at Jethro's side, clearing away blood, trying to stop the bleeding.

Vance removed thick gauze, tweezers, a bottle of the same painkillers Jethro had given her for her ribs, sandpaper from the first aid kit, tape bandages, an antiseptic and—to Jenny's apprehension—a metal instrument with a flat end. Ducky really was prepared for anything, and she thanked God for that.

"Hospitals," Vance said mechanically, "are not options. Gibbs is lucky this isn't fatal. The bullet is lodged right at the surface; the problem is the bleeding. You've stopped it enough, Jenny, for me to extract the bullet, but it will start again once it's out," Vance looked over the medical materials, examining them. From the pocket of the long coat he was wearing, he pulled a lighter and flipped it in his hand, laying it next to the metal instrument.

Jenny watched him like a hawk.

"Ducky doesn't have a knife," he murmured.

Swiftly, Jenny produced her switchblade from her boot.

"Rule number nine: always carry a knife," she parroted sternly. Jethro snorted from the chair, peeking at her through an eye. Vance scowled at her. He picked up the gauze and started cutting strips of it, handing them to her.

"Place these around the wound to soak up blood," he murmured. Jenny complied, using as much care as possible, her eyes stinging every time Jethro's skin contracted beneath her hands or he tensed away from her.

"You sure you know what the hell you're doing?" she asked tersely, turning a cold eye on Vance.

"I've done this before," he said sharply.

"I'm comforted."

"Gibbs has probably been through this," Vance pointed out, picking up rather large tweezers from Ducky's bag, "There isn't always time for proper care in war," he murmured, crouching beside Jethro's chair.

Jenny stood up, folding her arms and moving in front of him, biting her lip.

"Give him that sandpaper to bite on," Vance ordered, and Jenny, without a word, picked it up.

Jethro took it as if it were nothing, biting down on it between his teeth firmly. Vance placed his fingers around the burned, angry round wound on Jethro's side and spread it open wide, quickly inserting the silver prongs into it. Jethro's shoulders tightened and his muscles clenched; his knuckles turned white on his knees but he didn't make a sound while Vance dug around to grasp the bullet.

Jenny stepped back, her hand going to her lips as she watched his face turn white. Vance pulled his hand back swiftly, holding up the tweezers with the bullet between them, and Jethro groaned; the sound muffled by the sandpaper.

"Get me the antiseptic," Vance ordered absently, and Jenny was quick to distract herself, snatching it off the table for him. He opened the bottle and almost dumped it onto Jethro's side, dousing the wound in it, and then cleaning up with the gauze. He took Jenny's washcloth to stem the flow of new blood.

"Jen," Jethro said hoarsely, and Jenny looked at him sharply. He sounded hurt. He looked hurt. She almost couldn't stand it.

"What?" she asked quietly, as if Vance weren't even there.

"Bourbon."

She nodded; though he didn't see it, and retrieved it, sloshing a generous amount into a glass for him and keeping the bottle to steady her own nerves. Jethro didn't touch it right away though he gripped the glass tightly.

"Give him two of those morphine tablets," Vance ordered, and Jenny could only comply. She pushed them into Jethro's hand, her fingers desperately squeezing his, brushing his, trying to glean subtle confront she couldn't derive with Vance watching her every move. He dry swallowed the pills, taking a long swig of bourbon only afterwards.

"Here," Vance said, indicating she should take the cloth.

Jenny knelt next to Jethro and pressed her hand to the cloth lightly, stemming the blood flow and being careful not to hurt him all the same. She watched with dull eyes as Vance picked up the metal cauterizing instrument, flicking the lighter on and holding it. The other agent looked back at her and at Jethro, the flame cracking silently.

"I know what I'm doing," Vance said, not as rude this time. Jenny nodded curtly.

Vance took up his place again, his shoulder touching Jenny's this time, and as he focused on getting near Jethro's wound to stop the bleeding and close it up, Jenny inched back, removing the warm cloth and drawing her hand up the inside of Jethro's leg to his thigh beyond Vance's field of vision.

She looked up at her lover as Vance touched the hot metal to his side for the first time and flinched at the first acute show of pain she ever saw from Jethro. He tilted his head back and screwed up his features as if trying not to yell, biting down hard on the sandpaper. She pressed her hand into his thigh, wanting to soothe him, unable to, as Vance pulled the metal back and then pressed it down again.

The smell made her sick to her stomach.

Jethro grunted and one of his hands threaded into her hair, jerking tightly at the pony tail, almost dragging it out. She ignored the sharp tugging, immune to her discomfort, hyper-sensitive to his. When Vance was finally finished, Jethro gradually released his hold on her hair but his muscle rigidity held and his breathing remained shallow.

Vance applied the antiseptic again as Jethro downed the rest of his bourbon, dropping the sandpaper to the floor distastefully. Vance stood up and Jenny reached for the bandaging on the table, taking the gauze and settling on her knees again, determined to be the one to patch him up.

"Agent Vance," she said quietly, in a voice Jethro, in his stupor, recognized as dangerous, "Explain yourself."

Vance turned away, pacing across the kitchen and turning back.

"My cover was on the fence," he muttered, "One of the targets questioned my loyalty. I had to orchestrate a strategy to strengthen my credibility, keep my cover intact, and allow you to carry out your assignments," he paused and turned around, rubbing his forehead as he approached Jenny.

He put his hand on the back of a chair, looking at her.

Jenny, her expression stony, looked up at him briefly as she cleaned the blood away from Jethro's skin, her hair falling tangled and messy around her face.

"It wasn't supposed to turn into a blood bath," growled Vance.

"You gave us up," Jenny prompted mildly, the underlying threat evident in her voice.

"No," Vance said fiercely, "not what you think, Shepard, _no_," he said. "I traded Intel. Told them I knew of a plot to trap them into extradition and fed them some bullshit about the American Government," he paused very briefly and plowed on, "I told them I was CIA, and my agency was about to burn me, destroy my credibility, trap them into murdering me, and use that to get them."

"Risky," snarled Jenny, unimpressed.

"I had to do it," Vance snapped. "Once they pegged me for a disgruntled CIA operative, they believed I was theirs, all through," he looked her dead in the eye. "I told them about the meet. I said there'd be one shooter, one photographer in a car way off. I didn't know how you and Gibbs would approach; I thought Gibbs would pick them off from farther away. The initial number was four, I didn't know about the change of numbers—"

"I don't give a damn," Jenny said dully. She dropped what she was doing at Jethro's side and stood up, her eyes hard and old. "I don't want to hear it; I don't care. This is the second time you've done something that's gotten one of us hurt or killed for your goddamn _cover_," she snarled viciously advancing on him, "If you think that's justifiable, fine, maybe you'd better offer your services to the CIA because we don't play that way at NCIS—it doesn't work. We work as a team. You do not screw over your colleagues—"

Jenny broke off. She could barely contain her anger. She felt betrayed, hurt by Vance. Hurt by all of this. Jethro was hurt.

"I don't trust you. I cannot trust you because you're rogue, you're unpredictable—someone's given you too much rope and I hope you hang yourself with it,"

"Watch it, Agent Shepard," Vance said coolly.

Equally icily, she responded:

"The last time I checked, Leon, you weren't my boss," she gestured to the chair behind her, where Jethro had raised his head and was looking sharply at them, "Your actions got my boss shot. I don't take kindly to that. We upheld our part of the assignment. Now you make a call. You talk to Morrow. Goddammit, Vance, you make amends."

She glared at him like she'd never looked at anyone before. A vein jumped violently in Vance's temple, his eyes were wide and cold with anger at being spoken to like that. She didn't care. She was almost distraught.

"Need I remind you, Jennifer, that you deliberately shot me?" Vance asked through gritted teeth.

Jenny smirked.

"Consider it a casualty of war," she said, "Cementing your cover," she spat as an afterthought.

Vance had found his phone. He looked sour, angry, disgusted—but Jenny thought she saw the shadow of regret in his eyes, of sorrow. She didn't get a vibe of evil or treachery from this man, just ambition. Strong, unbridled ambition that took away his care for others.

His phone was in his hand, and he was flicking it open and closed.

"The two of you have an assignment lined up," he said curtly, keeping the phone open on his last flick, "Its dangerous here after what happened. I'll report to Morrow," he hesitated for a split second, "I'll have your transfer expedited to get you out faster, safer," he glanced at Jethro, "And give him time to heal."

Jenny glared at him, and finally nodded coldly.

"I'll be in touch," Vance said tersely. He received only a cold nod.

"Get out," Jenny said softly.

With narrow eyes, he pushed past her, and as his shoulder roughly brushed hers, she scowled, her brows knitting, her eyes on Jethro. Without turning to look at him, she said in a calm, dangerous voice:

"If you ever call me 'Jennifer' again, Leon," she paused as his footsteps stilled, "I will keelhaul you."

She waited what seemed like an eternity for him to unbolt the door and leave, shutting it with a forceful slam behind him.

If it was the last time she ever saw Leon Vance again, she could care less.

In the bitter silence that followed Vance's departure, Jenny re-approached Jethro and knelt beside him, tenderly returning to bandaging his side. His eyes were closed still, his breathing a little more even now, but his skin was still coated in a thin sheen of sweat.

"Jethro," she murmured, carefully attaching a small bandage over his wound to protect it. "Oh, Jethro."

"'M fine, Jen," he mumbled.

He shifted his head and his eyes opened halfway, he looked down at her lazily, still clearly in pain. She slowly rose and pulled up a chair, sitting next to him, leaning forward and resting her elbows on her knees. She looked at him eyelevel, her eyes stinging painfully again.

"Been shot before," he muttered, looking away from her sad eyes. She bit her lip hard, ignoring the taste of blood in her mouth. She felt sick all over again, thinking about what could have happened. Her muscles ached when she thought of Jethro's body slamming into her when he stumbled back with the force of the shot; she flinched at the memory of the cracking noise and his grunt.

She reached out with nothing to say, her throat deadlocked, feeling thankful and so scared at the same time. Her fingers brushed his chest, brushed the slightly feverish skin, and she found his heartbeat, pressing down against it.

It hit her in a staggering wave how much she loved him. It bothered her more than ever that she was finding it so hard to say those stupid words to him the way he murmured them to her after he first said them. It had been her fear that if she gave to freely, she'd lose. It occurred to her now that if she had lost him tonight, she would never have been able to tell him again.

"Your hands are cold," Jethro said hoarsely.

She'd never heard him admit to being cold before.

She leaned forward, pressing her lips to his warm shoulder, covering his skin with kisses, touching her forehead to the crook of his neck.

"I love you. Jethro, I love you" she said huskily, murmuring it against his skin. The words eased her heartache a little and she kissed his shoulder again, her words catching in her throat. She started crying, turning her face finally against his chest, trying to muffle the sound. This fear of losing him she'd discovered scared the hell out of her.

* * *

_Note on Jenny shooting Leon Vance: She shoots him because she's pissed and she can get away with it; it will help maintain his cover. Sound Familiar?:] Hint: I watched Season2Episode "Reveille" yesterday..._


	28. Distance

_A/N: Err...I feel bad because I promised updates, and then epically failed. But it kept coming down to Math Homweork vs. Jibbs and...well...grudgingly, I faced the facts of life. This chapter also had the added bonus of taking FOREVER. Enjoy the length!_

_Thanks to Aly (I love that girl...)_

* * *

Jenny Shepard's hands were shaking as she poured herself a mug of coffee, watching the steam rise from it with a tired, glassy-eyed expression. She let the warmth of the ceramic mug warm her hands, staring into the usually comforting liquid. It wasn't transparent enough to show her reflection, but she knew she looked terrible. She felt terrible. She'd had no sleep.

Jethro was tossing and turning under a haze of morphine and something else he'd taken against her wishes. She didn't like the idea of him mixing painkillers, and he'd snapped at her that it was just _grunt_ _candy_. He was uncomfortable in his sleep and it had been hard enough to try and sleep next to him, without the nightmares that kept waking her up in a cold sweat.

She'd finally given up on sleeping. It had been a day since the night Jethro had been shot—well, two, now that it was morning—and she was meeting Leon Vance today for information. They were getting out of Paris. She couldn't decide how she felt about it. So many good and bad things had happened.

It bothered her that the one time she had executed her part flawlessly, without getting her ass kicked or jeopardizing something, Jethro had been hurt. He wasn't a good patient, so far, either. He was reluctant to let her lay a hand on him, and it was getting to her. She had the irrational fear he was going to drop dead.

Jenny closed her eyes and shook her head a little, trying to brush the radical thoughts away. She sipped her coffee slowly and reminded herself how ridiculous it was to put so much feeling into one person. She'd never been the type to lay her heart at the feet of another person because people had always, always proved unreliable—but there was just something about _Jethro_. She couldn't place it. Unbeknownst to her, she _had_ laid her heart at his feet.

She needed to regain her control.

"Jen," Jethro said hoarsely from behind her, and she leapt a mile, banging her knee against the kitchen cabinets. She turned around with wide eyes, her heart skittering.

"Jesus _Christ_, Jethro," she growled, swallowing a gasp of surprise. She hadn't even heard the floor creak upstairs. He smirked at her from the kitchen doorway, dressed in old striped pajama pants and nothing else, the hunch in his stance familiar to her now, though no less hard to bear.

He walked towards her gingerly, the limp in his left side barely noticeable. It hurt him to straighten up because of the wound; it hurt him to use his abdominal muscles at all and the moron wouldn't rest or admit to it. Jenny narrowed her eyes at him, choosing not to say anything. The last thing he'd said to her before rolling over last night was '_back_ _off'_.

"Couldn't sleep?" he said, taking her coffee from her and drinking from it. Jenny watched him quietly, surveying the color of his skin and the clarity of his eyes, trying to determine if she should force him back to bed.

"I—" Jenny started to answer, but he cut her off.

"Wasn't a question," he shrugged, handing her back her mug; "You tossed and turned all night."

"That was you, Jethro," she informed him, attempting levity. She flashed a small smile and he didn't return it. He shook his head sternly and reached out to hold her arms, running his hands up and down her shoulders softly.

"Huh-uh, Jen," he corrected pointedly.

"Jethro," she sighed, wrinkling her forehead. He looked her in the eye and she turned her head away. She didn't want to discuss this with him; why the hell was he suddenly concerned with the content of her nightmares?

"You said my name. Few times," he told her coaxingly.

She blinked, cursing inwardly. Fucking sleep talking. Turning her head sharply, she looked him dead in the eye.

"Maybe it was the amount of painkillers you took," she said shortly, her shoulders tensing a little, "Had you imagining I was yelling your name because you wanted it."

Jethro smirked.

"I always want you yelling my name, Jen," he teased.

She couldn't help a small smile. At least he was in a better mood today. She gripped the coffee mug tighter and gave him a sultry look from under her eyelashes.

"You know how much I like to yell it," she said softly. He raised an eyebrow and removed the coffee mug from her grip, setting it on the counter behind her.

Jenny put her hands on his chest when he leaned forward, keeping him at a safe distance. He slipped an arm around her back and bunched the soft material of her flannel shirt into his hand, tugging some of it off her shoulder to expose her fair, kissable skin.

Jenny rested her cheek against his shoulder and closed her eyes, chewing on her lip apprehensively. Let him think sexual tension was keeping her awake. She didn't exactly want to turn breakfast into a therapy session and relate the images of blood and gore that were etched on the back of her eyelids.

"I have to meet with Vance today," she murmured, caressing his side lightly with her hand. She still held him back from her a little, as if afraid to touch him should it hurt. Jethro stiffened immediately, drawing his mouth away from her shoulder slightly.

"Why?" he growled, the sound reverberating through his chest. She sighed, bracing herself for the storm. With Jethro twice as stubborn and bull-headed as usual, she would have to fight tooth and nail to get him to shut up and deal with the facts.

"Information," she answered curtly.

"No. I don't want you alone—"

"I don't want to hear it, Jethro," she cut him off tiredly, shaking her head just slightly. She opened her eyes and looked off his shoulder, wishing he wasn't such chauvinist with the added bonus of a Knight-in-armor complex.

She felt him pull back and she sighed audibly this time, just so he knew he was making this more difficult than it should be. She didn't want to take her head off of his shoulder, but she had to, just to look him in the glaring eye.

"I am going, Jethro," she said calmly, "I am going alone. The last thing I need is Leon Vance really thinking I can't do a thing without you there to save my ass. You need to relax, anyway," she faltered off at the end, sliding a hand down from his shoulder to the bandage at his side, running her fingers over it tenderly.

"You shouldn't even be up," she murmured.

Jethro pushed her hand away.

"I'm fine," he said curtly, and it had to be the thousandth time he'd said it since he'd been shot.

Jenny curled her fingers into her palm, tired of him pushing her hands away from him. She just looked up at him and shrugged her shoulders, not bothering.

"If you take it easy, it will heal faster—"

"Dammit, Jen, leave it alone."

She squeezed his arm tightly, pricking him with her nails. She bit back anger and tears. Didn't he know how worried she was about him? He couldn't even begin to comprehend…Jenny slipped quietly out from between him and the counter and let her hands slide off of him, leaving him staring at her coffee mug, both of them unsatisfied with the morning's start.

She left the kitchen and wrapped her arms around herself in the sudden cold that surrounded her without Jethro's warmth up against her. Swallowing hard, she took the stairs purposefully, intent on getting dressed for her meet with Vance. She could go out early and get some air, find something at a drugstore to help Jethro. Maybe talk to a doctor.

She entered her room and went to her closet, selecting an outfit to wear to meet Vance. She planned on looking good; she was confident enough in herself to realize she had an effect on men, and she could work it to her advantage. She drew out a pair of dark blue jeans that hugged her legs and a cashmere sweater that fit her nicely and paired the outfit with her favorite black boots. She brushed her hair out and added a scarf for warmth and a beret for the hell of it, taking her time upstairs to pass minutes until she met Vance and, admittedly, to hide from dealing with Jethro.

She wanted to be close to him and at the same time it bothered her to think how attached she was to him. The bullet wound had been a close call, and it only served to remind her that things were usually taken from her, and forced her to remember why she had stopped letting people get so close. It made her think that she'd let Jethro get far too close. Sometimes she didn't know if he felt the same way. She never doubted he loved her, he would never say it if he didn't, but she entertained the thought that it didn't mean the same thing to them.

She rubbed her forehead in frustration and blew a strand of hair off of her forehead, rummaging around for her phone and sliding it into her back pocket. She was tired of thoughts like these, telling her to pull away from Jethro and stop now, before it got any deeper and she ended up getting hut. She didn't want to distance herself from him…she concealed her knife in the usual place in her boot and her SIG at the small of her back. She pulled on a light jacket and frowned; she really needed to invest in a winter coat.

A glance at the clock on the bedside table told her she would do well to leave now, since she planned on walking and she was meeting Vance at an obscure café in the 8th _arrondissment_; not too far of a walk but not exactly a short one either.

She wasn't looking forward to this solo meet with Leon Vance. She was fairly sure she was going to have to listen to thinly veiled remarks and insults about her relationship with Jethro. Vance, from his comments in the car, seemed convinced she was talentless, earning her commendations through Jethro's bed alone. It irked her, but she wasn't going to show it.

The last thing she did was add a small amount of her French perfume before she left her room, making her way back down the stairs and around to the kitchen.

She leaned against the doorframe before entering, contemplating Jethro. He was slumped over the kitchen table, seemingly asleep, his arm stretched out across it. Her abandoned coffee mug was with him. She walked silently across the kitchen floor and reached for the coffee mug.

"_Jen_," he warned, without opening an eye.

She picked up the coffee mug anyway and dumped the rest of it. It wasn't good for him. He needed to be eating and drinking healthier while he was injured.

Without a word, she opened the refrigerator, poured him a glass of milk, and smacked it purposefully down in the coffee mug's place. She was greeted with a glare, which wasn't quite as threatening when it was given from a slumped over Jethro.

"How many more painkillers did you take?" Jenny asked quietly, not even looking at the bottle of them she'd already seen on the table. They hadn't been there when she'd left the kitchen.

Jethro didn't answer. Jenny picked it up off the table as well and made the decision to hide it.

"This isn't going to help," she admonished sharply. He couldn't get away with just taking a handful of OxyContin every hour and trying to function.

"Feels like it is," he grumbled.

"Jethro—" she started.

"Will you shut up, Jen? I don't need you to nurse me."

Jenny bit her lip hard and held back a sharp retort. It was useless and would just start a fight, a fight he was apparently intent on brewing. She didn't appreciate being told to shut-up one bit. Shrugging carelessly, she threw the pill bottle on the table and touched his hair in a slightly threatening way.

She leaned down and made eye contact, narrowing her eyes. She pressed her lips to his temple and said softly in his ear:

"Stop taking those damn painkillers and I'll play nurse with you later," she bribed, with absolutely no intention of following through when he was being such a bastard to her.

She thought he might have perked up, but didn't look back to check as she left.

Why did he have to be so stubborn? Was it so hard to swallow his pride so he could heal all right? She rolled her eyes as she started her trek down the residential sidewalk, thinking sarcastically that if he was in good health, he'd be able protect her better. At least, that's what she should bring up if she wanted the hardheaded control freak to cooperate.

Sometimes, she couldn't decide if his protective nature was sweet or if it downright pissed her off. She sensed that there was a reason behind it, something beyond the fact that she'd been kidnapped and injured not too long ago. It seemed like he solidly convinced she was going to get hurt, which she didn't understand. She wasn't stupid and she wasn't clumsy; he had no reason to believe she was in imminent danger of dying tragically.

She tried pushing him from her mind for the moment. Jethro was complex and complicated; sometimes she could see easily what line his thought process followed and sometimes…she didn't understand what drove him. Her father's murder pushed her to succeed, provided her with the ammo she needed to claw her way up the career ladder to the position she needed, but Jethro?

She didn't know what drove Jethro, but she did know it was _something_.

Frustrated, she ran her hand through the ends of her hair and shook her head slightly to herself, tired of letting her time be consumed by thoughts of him. He wouldn't get out of her head. She realized she was walking distractedly and not paying attention when she should be on her guard.

Considering Leon Vance had thought it would be cute to give her the general direction and location of this obscure café and not tell her its name for 'security reasons', she damn well should be paying close attention in case she sighted him.

She entered the area Vance had specified and strolled over to a vendor, justifying buying herself some ice cream by citing Jethro's rude behavior. She took the small cup and the little spoon and wandered casually over to the outdoor boutiques, keeping a sharp eye out for Vance among the French citizens all around.

Feigning interest in a display of designer knock-offs—which she became slightly more interested when she noticed the vendor was mistaken in thinking they were knock-offs—she glanced over towards one of the cafes, eyes searching. It was full of young student types, no adults to be seen, and she turned away, picking another direction.

Jenny looked through a pair of Manolo Blahniks and caught sight of Vance at a different café, reading a paper. How very clever of him. Jenny smirked and decided to let him wait a little, opting instead to examine more closely the shoe display. She ran her hand over the sleek black Manolos in front of her, tempted by the reasonable price tag dangling around the heel.

She smiled to herself, and bought them. Looping the small yellow bag the vendor gave her around her wrist, she sauntered over to Vance's chosen café, a casual smirk in place across her lips. She made sure to set the bag daintily on the table to announce her arrival, sitting down and fluidly crossing one leg over the other.

"You're late, Agent Shepard."

Jenny clicked her tongue patronizingly.

"I do hate it when team members don't follow directions as planned," she sighed lightly, lifting an eyebrow archly, "People end up _shot_."

Vance folded his paper shut and inclined his head with a stony glare.

"I don't have time for games," he growled. It wasn't nearly the caliber of growl Jethro possessed; Vance probably wouldn't even send a rat squealing away.

Jenny pursed her lips as if to look saddened by the announcement. Vance scowled at her.

"The shopping couldn't have waited until your own time?" he asked with obvious disdain.

Jenny shook her head slowly, taking a spoonful of her ice cream slowly before answering with a sarcastic, smart-ass tone:

"I need these heels to _nurse_ Agent Gibbs, _Leon_."

He did not look amused by her wit or her sarcasm. She leaned back in her seat and twitched her boot-clad foot slightly, tilting her head and waiting for him to go on. He looked at her like he was about to let her have it, before folding up the paper carefully in front of him.

"Tom," he started casually, referring to Morrow as if he were a mutual friend of theirs, "did not want the two of you lingering long here after the job was done. He's already arranged your next play, but you're not going to take it up right away," Vance stopped, looking at her occasionally, slyly watching people. They looked like two friends, maybe a couple, meeting for a quick lunch.

Jenny listened intently.

"He's arranged your safe house, I've arranged your travel," the newspaper was slid across the table to her and she stilled its slide with two fingernails, still meeting Vance's dark and calculating eyes.

"Two train tickets. You'll hole up for a while, rest, recover. You," she could tell by the way he referred to her with that derogatory 'you' that he disagreed with what he was about to say "are evidently helping Decker with Intel. He's been floating around Italy for the past few weeks."

Jenny smirked, and nodded. Italy. She'd been curious about where they were going the minute Vance had referred to their travel means as 'train tickets'.

"You'll wait for further instructions there,"

"Tom is planning something big?" Jenny asked shrewdly, searching Vance's eyes for an explanation. Vance swallowed, looking sour, and Jenny's smirk softened a little threateningly.

"You don't know," she commented lightly, taking another bite of ice cream. She felt suddenly superior to the man sitting across from her who held such high esteem for himself.

Vance didn't quite answer.

"It isn't my business to know," he responded curtly, leaning forward a little.

"I'm not sure what you've done to turn the Director's eye on you, Agent Shepard," he said very quietly, breaking character, "But I don't think much of you, not from what I've seen. I hope you don't think you'll find your way to the top in Agent Gibbs' bed,"

Jenny's eyes narrowed sharply and she leaned forward to meet his challenging gaze, seething with fury at the very suggestion that her skills and mind alone weren't enough to get her the position she was after.

"Leon," she drawled boredly, "I am good enough to have moved up the ranks far faster than this if all I had to do was screw Jethro," she tilted her head, and let the tease sink in. She stood up slowly, her eyes flashing angrily, and swept the newspaper off the table gracefully. "I suppose it's a good thing that's not the game I'm playing."

She inclined her head at him sardonically and started off, her heels snapping on the paved patio of the café. As she passed Vance, it occurred to her he hadn't given a thought to asking if Jethro was all right; he'd shown no concern for a colleague's well being. She paused and turned around, resting her hand on Vance's shoulder and digging her nails in.

"Jethro's recovering fine, in case you were concerned," she informed him sharply.

"Not particularly," she heard the man mutter darkly, and she squeezed his shoulder condescendingly as she turned and left, dislike coursing through her veins.

She understood completely why Jethro didn't trust Vance, and she more than understood why he didn't like him. Her entire mood dropped when she was around him. His obvious disdain towards her didn't do much to alleviate her hostile feelings, and she felt competitive in his presence, like he was threatened by her and therefore she had a reason to prove herself better.

What bothered her was Vance's immediate assumption that because she was a female, because she was fortunate-looking, and because Jethro had a thing for redheads–which everyone apparently seemed to know about—she must be sleeping with him. He had no proof, he hadn't known Jethro and known her like Ducky, or seen them together. Vance's assumption was based solely on preconceived notions about pretty women in the workplace and the fact that he didn't think she could possibly have attracted the Director's attention without a little nudge from a man.

The more she thought about it, the more she wanted to march back to the cafe and give Vance another complimentary round to the shoulder, maybe a little closer to the heart this time. If he tried to block her way carrying stories to Morrow or blackening her name with rumors…he had it coming.

It appeared he was grasping at his power anyway. He knew he'd botched a lot recently; he must be losing favor with Morrow. Tom Morrow was a fair man, Jenny knew that much. Even if he had defended Vance to Jethro, he would watch his step trusting the man again.

Jenny slowed her walk and took a few deep breaths, calming herself down. She wasn't quite ready to return to the safe house yet, she was already edgy and she was prudent enough not to go back right away and inevitably instigate a fight with Jethro.

She racked her brains for memory of where she had once seen a drug store or a convenience store, intent on picking up any medicine they might need and spare bandages. She finally found one on a corner and went in, wandering around and taking her time.

She picked up over the counter painkillers, fever medicine, cold medicine, anti-bacterial, gauze, anything she could think of. She was tempted to fill the basket with organic remedies but for the fact that she knew Jethro would muster all his energy to run away if she came at him with those.

The convenience store didn't sell bourbon, but he didn't need it anyway. Putting unnecessary chemicals in his body wasn't going to help him. At the checkout, she amused herself listening to the light, petty conversations of the people around her—people who were no doubt unaware the American woman could understand them perfectly.

She bought what she wanted, looped that bag around her wrist as well, and headed out, slipping the newspaper into the bag with heels in it. If she were to be mugged by any chance, she knew she'd hold on to the Manolos over the medical supplies.

The wind was blowing icily as she walked home, careful to be aware of her surroundings, just on the off chance someone might be watching. It was cold and she cursed under her breath, wishing again for a coat. She couldn't for the life of her fathom why she hadn't had Noemi pack one.

She hadn't thought this would be long term, she supposed, in so many different ways.

Wrinkling her nose against the cold, she resisted the urge to run up the sidewalk to the safe house when she saw it and settled for walking faster again, leaning against the door when she arrived as she tried to doorknob. It opened and she rolled her eyes; figures Jethro wouldn't lock the door even when they were in a foreign country in a dangerous situation.

It struck her that his beef with locking doors spoke of arrogance. It seemed like he didn't feel the need to lock anyone out because he felt he could just kick their ass if they came in.

Jenny slammed the door behind her and scuffed her feet in front of the door, knocking off snow or ice that had gotten on her boots. She peered down the hall to the kitchen, squinting a little, and gathered Jethro had left. His previously occupied chair was pushed out and the cup of milk was sitting there, most likely untouched.

"Jethro?" Jenny called tentatively, quietly in case he'd fallen asleep. If he were awake, he'd have heard it; his hearing was impressive.

She went quietly to the kitchen, setting the bag of medicinal items on the table next to the untouched cup of milk and narrowing her eyes at the almost empty bottle of bourbon she caught sight of on the counter.

She left the kitchen, wrinkling her brow as she tried to find Jethro. She was halfway past the living area when she did a double take and realized he was stretched out flat on his back on the sofa, with a hand over his face, lying completely still.

She backtracked and stood in the doorway, biting her lip. He had the lights off. She was willing to bet he was a little drunk if not completely, and even more willing to bet he was in pain. She sighed and came forward, gently slipping the bag of shoes off of her wrist and placing it on the table as she approached.

Jethro shifted and moved his hand to better look at her. She still had the newspaper Vance had given her held tightly, and flinched when he started to move like he was going to sit up.

"Don't," she murmured, and he proceeded to ignore her, his jaw muscles tightening as the movement hurt him and he pushed through the pain anyway. He rubbed his forehead roughly and blinked at her, focusing.

"Have fun?" he asked gruffly, and she blew air out of her mouth disdainfully, rolling her eyes.

She started unfolding the paper, looking for the small envelope that contained travel information and money for them.

"How much have you had to drink?" she asked mildly, not looking at him but at the envelope when she found it and tossed aside the paper.

She heard him groan in exasperation.

"Christ, Jenny," he muttered, clearly tired of it. She narrowed her eyes at the envelope instead of him, convinced she wasn't behaving in a particularly irritating manner.

"Don't think I'm concerned about your health, Jethro," she responded coolly, no matter how untrue it was, "I'm just pissed you didn't leave me any."

He kept silent after that one, sensing she was on edge.

"Plan?" he asked shortly, looking at her with sharp eyes.

She lifted two train tickets out of the envelope, removing them from the array of Italian paper money, and held them up and out to him.

"We're out," she said curtly, "Train tickets to," she drew out the last word, glancing at the destination, "Positano, Italy."

He grunted, examining them closely. Jenny watched him hesitantly and closely, trying to gauge what kind of mood he was in. Chewing the inside of her lip, she crossed her arms and sat gingerly on the edge of the couch next to him, resting a palm on his thigh.

He looked away from the rain tickets and at her hand, then up to her face.

"Jen," he started, gentler.

"Don't say anything to me," she shushed quietly, scooting closer to him and reaching up with both hands for the hem of his shirt. She bunched it upwards and found his bandaged side, using all of her will power not to wince when she saw it had started bleeding through the tape again.

Damn Jethro.

"Is this hurting you?"

"I'm fine."

"That's not what I asked, Jethro," she responded sharply, reaching out to touch the bandage carefully. "Is it hurting?"

"No," he snapped equally testily, "Leave it, Jen."

She looked up at him impartially.

"It isn't good to let it bleed like this," she informed him, "You can't move around so much."

He rolled his eyes and made it clear he didn't take a damn word she said seriously.

"Train leaves tomorrow at one," she murmured, feeling the damaged skin around his bullet wound absently. "I'm going to pack. I'll pack your—"

"Dammit, Jen!" he cursed, drawing away from her hand suddenly. She yanked her hand back like she'd been burned, her brow furrowing. She didn't think she'd pressed that hard, but she could see the acute pain flicker across his eyes before he hid it from her.

She swallowed hard, frustrated and upset again. Either she was hurting him or pissing him off, there didn't seem to be a middle ground.

"That needs to be changed," she said quietly, referring to the bandage.

"And I always thought _Ducky_ was annoying," Jethro growled pointedly, glaring at her. She narrowed her eyes, gnashing her teeth together to avoid leaping to her feet and shouting at him.

"I'm trying to help, Jethro."

"I don't need help, Jenny," he growled, placing the train tickets roughly on the table. "I'll pack my bags myself, you don't need to do it for me," he snapped, aware of what she'd been about to say earlier.

After a split second of holding his gaze stonily, Jenny got stiffly to her feet.

"You're damn right I don't," she threw back in a steely tone, her green eyes as hard as emeralds.

She hardly gave him a backwards glance as she left. She'd been determined to avoid starting another row, but she couldn't stop herself from chastising him for being so careless and it seemed every little thing she said just offended him.

She went up the stairs, each step feeding her anger. She didn't want to lose it, didn't want to fight, but god he was just so infuriating. Her teeth were clenched so tightly it hurt when she reached the top floor and slammed her bedroom door forcefully behind her just to release some of the pent up discontent.

Packing might soothe her, she thought; the folding and organizing could have a calming effect. It all depended on whether or not she could force herself to think of something else. It didn't help her cause that sitting close to him a moment ago had triggered other feelings beyond rage, and she could tell she was getting a headache.

She stared at the mess of things in her room, breathing deeply and counting to twenty in every language to calm down, before she decided to get what she had in Jethro's room out before she began packing everything.

She opened the door less forcefully than she had slammed it and ventured out, her head beginning to throb harder. She busied herself with questions about Positano, memorized the address she'd seen written on the fold of the envelope, and counted to ten in Italian—anything to keep her mind off of Jethro.

She entered his room and paused in the center of it when she noticed his bloody clothes still on the floor near the bedside table, untouched and unmoved from the night he'd been shot when she'd forced him into the shower. She slowly walked over to them, stopping and looking down at them with tight lips.

A noise behind her startled her and she jumped, her gasp of surprise hoarse and almost teary. She whirled around and found Jethro standing in the doorway, watching her. She reacted without thinking, her anger and hurt spilling over the surface.

"You son of a bitch!" she shouted, her voice catching at the end. She glared at him, refusing to give in, while his hand slipped off of the wall and he came forward purposefully, in all of his stubbornness walking perfectly upright though it put strain on him.

"Calm down Jen," he soothed.

"You don't understand!" she seethed, albeit not stepping back when he stopped in front of her and reached out for her shoulder.

When he firmly put his arm around her shoulders and stepped up to press against her, she let him. She let herself sink into the curve of his embrace and press her aching forehead into the muscle of his shoulder, taking a deep breath.

"You could be dead," she growled.

"I'm not," he said sharply, as if that ended everything.

She closed her eyes, his answer confirmed by the steady beating of his heart and the rushing of his pulse that she felt against her as she leaned into him.

So many words came to her lips, begging to burst through, demanding that she throw as many hurtful words at him as possible. Her moods were swinging though; she didn't want to be angry with him when anger was such a damaging emotion. Not in the circumstances. She was battling anger and weakness when he put his warm—almost feverish—hand against her head and ran it through her hair, bowing his head to press his forehead against her crown.

She just let him hold her, too angry, too confused by his behavior.

* * *

Jenny leaned with her forehead against the cool glass of the rain window as landscape rushed by her, only a myriad of colors in her eyes. She was tired, cold, and starting to feel hungry, and she and Jethro were _still_ walking on eggshells with each other.

She sighed absently and glanced down at her feet, where the heels she'd bought yesterday were being put to good use. She admired them dully, bored out of her mind and willfully attempting not to sleep while Jethro slept beside her, calm in rest and not quite as growly or rude.

He was, surprisingly, stretched out across the cloth seats, out like a light. His head rested in her lap and one leg was propped up at an angle from where he lay on his back, his eyes moving just slightly beneath his eyelids. Jenny watched him protectively and balefully, her hand keeping up the gentle massage she'd started on his shoulder when he'd first lay down.

It was an excruciatingly long train ride that Jenny hadn't been prepared for. She felt like she hadn't slept in days, which was probably accurate. Jethro had spiked a fever last night and declined to acknowledge it, though he'd tossed and turned in bed, uncomfortable and hurting, the painkillers he crunched seeming to help not at all. He'd grudgingly let Jenny re-dress his wound but had set it bleeding again while he shifted around, and Jenny had lay next to him with her mouth clamped shut, thinking 'I told you so' and trying not to fall asleep.

She couldn't sleep. Nightmares kept plaguing her, murky, bloody nightmares that had her waking up and reaching for Jethro only to pull back when he snapped at her. She would stand in her study and watch, frozen in time, as The Frog, La Grenouille, the man she hated with every fiber of her being, shot her father with a small smile. She would turn, blinded with tears, to find Jethro, stumbling towards him, only to hear the sharp crack of a gun and watch blood seep down his temples. It was morbid, frightening, and haunting, and she couldn't get it out of her head.

She couldn't wait until they were off this train, which would be soon if the changing light was any indication. It was fading from daylight into a soft evening glow, meaning their arrival in a train station near Positano would happen soon. She hoped it would be warmer in Italy.

Looking down at Jethro, she smiled slightly and ran her hand over his cheek lightly, still aware of the elevation in his temperature. They were barely speaking; both knew words would only drive a wedge between them right now. Jenny couldn't sort through her feelings. She wanted to talk to him, but there was no chance in hell Leroy Jethro Gibbs would go for a touchy-feely talk.

Jethro's eyes twitched beneath his eyelids and she watched him intently. His eyes moved frequently when he slept, his mouth too sometimes, framing words she couldn't read or just frowning in his sleep. She wondered what went on inside his head.

Jenny turned back to the window, resting her head against it again.

Her eyes fell a little, weight of sleep tugging forcefully at her eyelids. Oh, she wanted to sleep.

"Jenny," Jethro stated loudly and clearly, and her eyes snapped open.

"What?" she asked thickly, blinking away the fatigue. "What?" she asked again, looking around.

He was still asleep. She furrowed her brow at him and touched his shoulder. His muscles twitched and he frowned.

"No," he rasped, and Jenny stroked his cheek gently.

"Jethro, wake up," she coaxed, "You're having a nightmare."

He opened his eyes, rather quickly in her opinion, and she could tell he was trying to take inventory of his surroundings. His blue eyes met hers and she smiled tiredly, running her fingers through his hair.

His muscles tensed and he grunted as he sat up fluidly. Jenny sighed and made no other sound, shaking her head. It was futile, and she hoped he was bleeding out under his stupid stubborn clothes.

Jethro yawned, rolled his head around, and rubbed the back of his neck, looking at her sleepily.

"You look like hell, Jen," he commented.

"I'm flattered," she responded in a dull voice. He paused rubbing his neck and managed to look appropriately apologetic, obviously having not meant to hurt her for once. He straightened up a little, his winces unhidden and sharp this time, and turned towards her, reaching out to rest his hand on her thigh.

"You're not sleeping," he stated, starting to slowly stroke his hand back and forth over a small area.

Jenny just shrugged. She leaned her head back against the cushions of the seats and relaxed a little, pleased with his gentle touch. Maybe his good, long nap of nearly six hours had helped his mood.

"How long?" he asked, gesturing at the window.

"'Bout an hour left," she mumbled, stumbling over the words.

Jethro nodded and watched her silently. She turned her head, tilting it against the window and looking at him. She gave him a small smile, willing to encourage him to talk. She couldn't read him; his eyes were too guarded.

"Jenny?" he asked.

"Hmmm?"

"You mad at me?"

Jenny sighed, patronized, and shook her head slowly, not sure how to answer him.

"No, Jethro."

He looked at her with concern. There had to be a reason she was so tired, as far as he knew she was sleeping fine when she wasn't harassing him into next century. Nevertheless, he moved closer to her and brought his hand from her leg up to her shoulder, brushing her hair back and rubbing her tense muscles gently.

He ran his other hand over her knee and thigh lightly, watching her eyes flutter. She rolled her head and looked at him, raising an eyebrow lazily. He kissed her neck silently, right where he could feel her pulse under his lips as it jumped under his touch.

"Relax, Jen," he murmured, lips brushing her hear. He pulled back to look at her, in time to see her shake her head minutely.

"I can't," she said stiffly.

He grunted at her in frustration and slipped his hand down her shoulder, wrapping it around her upper arm tightly. Jenny looked down at the hand and narrowed her eyes, waiting for him to do something asinine. He didn't. He merely scooted back and tugged her towards him imperatively, so she relented and willingly lay down and curled up next to him, her head on his knee.

He ran his hand up and down the curve of her side, from her to shoulder to her hip and back again, tracing her curves, his fingers brushing lightly against her breast. Jenny closed her eyes and gave in, snuggling as close to him as the seating allowed and curling up, relieved to find him gentle and wary of instigating an argument.

"At least get some sleep," he coaxed, his other hand running reverently through her hair. Jethro never ceased to like stroking her hair. "You need it, Jenny."

She liked it when he called her Jenny.

"Can't," she mumbled sleepily, still fighting it. She didn't want to wake up screaming or crying and scare the hell out of him.

"Hush," he told her purposefully, and she pursed her lips.

Under his gentle caress and the influence of his warmth, Jenny allowed her thoughts to get fuzzy and it wasn't long before she drifted off, vaguely concerned about sleeping on him in case it hurt.

She was only woken from a surprisingly uneventful sleep by the sharp jolting of the train as it came to a stop, whistles blowing obnoxiously in her ear. She blinked her eyes slowly, frowning as she sat up. She noticed immediately that Jethro wasn't sitting with her anymore, and forced herself awake faster, straightening and looking around alertly.

"Jethro!" she snapped, before she could stop herself, when she saw him stretching to get a couple of their bags from the compartments overhead.

He fell back on his heels with a duffle bag in his hand, looking genuinely surprised.

"What the hell are you doing?" she demanded.

He dropped the bag pointedly on the floor in front of him and gave her a look. She narrowed her eyes and returned it, suppressing a yawn as she stood up.

"Let me do it," she insisted, trying to nudge him out of the way.

"Jen," he growled warningly.

"Jethro, you'll make yourself bleed again," she admonished exasperatedly, reaching for his shirt. She ran her hand over the place where he was bandaged, feeling for dampness.

Jethro reached down and took her hand and pulled it away, though it was gentler than he had been the last few times. He ran his fingers over her knuckles and reached back up to the compartment with the other hand.

"Give it a rest," he said tiredly, as if he were simply asking her nicely.

Jenny slipped her hand out of his and pressed her lips together, shrugging. She didn't know how to react. With a sigh, she started helping him with bags, and pulled their passports and necessary papers out of the place she'd hidden them as they readied themselves the leave the train.

"It's raining," Jethro pointed out as they stood on the platform, and Jenny searched a map for the place they'd been assigned. She chewed on her lip as she figured it out, her shoulder aching from the weight of the luggage she carried.

She was trying to keep Jethro from noticing she'd managed to convince him he was carrying more by giving him a really big bag and a couple small ones. She was actually bearing the brunt of everything, and it didn't bother her a bit.

"It doesn't matter," she mumbled, folding up the map, "We're taking a cab." thunder cracked overhead and Jenny cringed, taking a deep breath. It seemed unfair that her first experience in Italy would be a thunderstorm.

She managed to hail a cab fairly quickly, so they didn't get too wet, and the driver was polite enough to help them with their bags even in the rain. She communicated to him speaking a mixture of French, English, and what little she knew of Italian, as he could speak barely anything but his native language.

Jethro was, as always, impressed with Jenny's ability to communicate with others even through a language barrier, and swing things in the direction she wanted. It was why he'd always let her deal with the press when they caught a particularly high profile case back in the states, before all of this had happened.

"Mountains?" Jethro questioned gruffly, as their car began to slow in narrow streets.

"Cliffs," Jenny corrected benignly, leaning forward to look out the window. "The villas are similar to the homes in Greece, built into the cliffs by the ocean," she pointed past Jethro, tilting her finger down a little. "You can see the beach," she murmured.

"We'll blend easily," Jethro noted.

"Positano's a vacation spot for tourists," Jenny mused. "Plenty of Americans."

"English," Jethro breathed, sounding relieved.

Jenny snorted, a soft smile playing across her lips. She nudged him playfully in the shoulder, relaxing a little in the easy conversation.

"Like you'll talk to anyone," she commented smartly. Jethro laughed, the sound music to her ears.

She felt like she was walking on eggshells around him, unsure of if he was getting ready to snap his teeth and growl at her or pull her into a bear hug.

The drive spoke tentatively in broken French and Jenny turned her attention to him, looking alertly out the front window. She nodded.

"_Si_," she said, gesturing helpfully in the direction of a villa a little further down the road. "_Alla fine, sulla sinistra_."

The driver nodded and followed Jenny's directions, whatever she'd said.

"_Eh, arreste? Prego?" _Jenny was sure her wording and her verb usage was wrong, but the driver understood her enough. He stopped the cab at the third villa from the edge of the cliff, hopping out of the front seat immediately.

Jenny was torn between preventing Jethro from getting the bags and taking care of the tab, considering Jethro would be unable to communicate with the man at all. He noticed Jenny looking between them and rolled his eyes, making a point of going for the trunk with a stony look.

She gave him a half-smile and turned to the driver, speaking slowly as they tried to work out what the price was.

It wasn't raining hard, but Jenny could feel her hair dampening as she stood working things out. She finally understood the driver's price by holding up her fingers, and had to bite back laughter. She found the whole thing rather fun. She walked back to meet Jethro as the cab pulled slowly away and he turned towards the villa they stood in front of.

"This isn't ours," Jenny informed him mildly, going about picking up bags. She was reluctant to let them get wet and wanted to get inside as soon as possible.

Jethro looked at her impassively, waiting.

"Ours is the one at the end, edge of the cliff," Jenny said, tilting her head towards it as she indicated they should start walking.

"Just to be safe?" he asked, figuring she'd had the cab driver drop them off at the wrong villa just in case, by some one-in-a-million off chance, he was questioned about their whereabouts by someone who'd miraculously discovered their game.

She smirked in response.

She was carefully on the rocky ground; wet rocks could be slippery and the last thing they needed was two stubborn invalids attempting to function in the same space. Jenny checked the number on the villa at the end just to be sure, and surveyed it as she approached.

It was small and airy, white washed, with vines growing over it and wild flowers growing around it, similar to many of the others. It looked out over a substantial cliff, though there was enough space in the front so you didn't walk out the front door and to your death. She guessed the beach would look prettier when it wasn't gloomy and wet.

Jenny shivered as she jolted herself out of her thoughts and opened the lock on the back door with an old key, letting Jethro in before her. She shut it behind her, locked it, and dropped everything in her arms on the floor, breathing a sigh of relief that the traveling was over.

She looked around at the open area, a foyer that branched off into different rooms. There were no stairs, just a ground floor with plenty of space. The only thing she found wrong with it right off the bat was that all the windows were open in what might have been a pleasant gesture in summer.

Now, it was just freezing.

"I'll shut them," Jethro said, and she smiled gratefully, thankful he could read her mind so well.

She shivered, her first thoughts going to finding the shower and warming up. She wanted desperately to be clean and dry. She didn't even care about organizing right now. She leaned against the door and stared through the villa to the picture-esque windows she saw at an angle that provided a view over the cliffs to the ocean.

So far, Positano had promise.

Thunder rolled threateningly again, and then cracked loudly, twice, and Jenny jumped, barely holding back a shriek of surprise. Jethro reappeared in the foyer, rubbing his hands together.

"Jen," he started.

"Gunshots," she said hoarsely, looking at him dully, "Thunder sounds like gunshots."

He'd once asked her why it terrified her so. Maybe that explanation was enough.

Jethro fell silent and looked at her. He sighed and approached her, reaching out to touch her shoulder. Jenny pushed off from the door, stepping out from the pile of bags to meet him, running her hands up and down her arms to warm up.

"You're soaked," he stated, wrapping his hand around her arm. Jenny looked down at herself mildly. Her shirt was clinging to her, her pants were dark with the rain, and the heels were slick with droplets. She smirked.

"You can see through my shirt," she snorted, raising an eyebrow.

Jethro returned the look and pulled her with him gently.

"Get out of your wet clothes."

"I see where this is going, Jethro."

"I found the bedroom."

"I'm sure you did," she snorted, stumbling after him.

He led her into a nice sized room towards the back of the house, where one of the windows looked over the view. It was too dark and dismal to see anything pretty now, but Jenny was sure it would be a gorgeous sight.

The bed was a four-poster, huge, covered in fluffy bedclothes, and Jenny instantly wanted to snuggle up under them and block out the thunder.

She felt Jethro tug her close and his hands found her waist, slowly pulling up the hem of her wet shirt. She helped him get it over her head, familiar with the action, and took her time with his jeans while he pushed back her wet hair and placed light kisses against the column of her throat.

"Ow," she mumbled at him, when he tried to push her against the bed like he had in Paris and found it obstructed by the wooden frame.

"Damn," he cursed, spinning her and pulling her over to the side of the bed where he pushed her back and crawled over her.

Jenny laced her fingers together behind his neck and tilted her head up for a kiss. She felt dizzy. Something in the back of her mind was telling her to stop but she couldn't remember why she wasn't supposed to be in bed with Jethro.

She shrugged as she maneuvered her heels off and tangled her legs with Jethro's, able to ignore the sound of thunder when he was with her.

"We spending Christmas here?" Jethro murmured, breaking a fraction of an inch away to breathe.

She fluttered her eyes, knitting her brows. She hadn't thought about it. She hadn't been thinking about Christmas at all. She calculated swiftly, and nodded a little.

"The new year, too," she said, stroking the back of his neck with one finger, "We're here indefinitely."

Jethro nodded and kissed her again, his hand sliding over her shoulder and the material of her bra as he found the clasp of her jeans and loosened it. She mumbled incoherently into his lips and unlocked her hands from behind his head, bunching his shirt in her hands. He pulled back so she could draw it over his head and she ran her hands down his back to his middle.

His stomach muscles contracted and he sucked in his breath, touching his forehead to hers. He slid an arm under her back and pulled her flush against him, his other hand drifting to her hair. Jenny shifted, her hand still roaming his abdomen, until she absentmindedly ran her fingers over his side and the bandages protecting the wound.

Instantly, Jethro flinched—though she would bet it wasn't voluntary—and his arm tensed under her. Jenny stooped moving her hand, resting her fingertips lightly on the injury, and took a deep breath.

"Jethro," she murmured, already apologetic.

"It's all right, Jen."

"No," she shook her head, wriggling to loosen his grip, "Stop, Jethro."

She heard his sigh of frustration and he pulled his arm away more roughly than was necessary, sitting back a little. Jenny freed herself from him and sat on the bed, pushing hair behind her hears, curling her legs under her. She bit her lip. He glared at her.

"We can't."

"Goddammit, Jenny—"

"Jethro, you don't want to make it worse than it is! We don't have access to medical—"

"The medication I need is sitting right in front of me," he growled, looking her up and down before he met her eyes.

Jenny shook her head. She didn't say anything. It wasn't just the injury that was holding her back. She wasn't in a good mental state, and she'd be damned if she was going to hurt him—or worse, _cry_—while they made love.

Thunder crashed and she jumped, biting down hard on her lip.

"We're both tired, Jethro," she sighed, "We need sleep."

"Then sleep alone, Jenny," he growled, getting up.

She looked at him in shock as he picked up his jeans and shirt, completely blindsided by his reaction.

"Jethro," she said, part confused, part angry, as he started to walk away from her. He was being immature, just because he wasn't getting what he wanted. Did he think it was easy for her? She was feeling a thousand different things right now, none of which she could discuss with him.

She just looked at him while he stood there, as if daring her to make a move. Clenching her jaw, she turned her back on him and lay down, finding her way under the blankets. She grabbed the pillow with one hand violently where he couldn't see, taking out her feelings on it.

She heard him leave.

And then, she heard him come back. It was barely ten minutes, and he had dry clothes on and a knit blanket with him. She didn't know where he'd gotten it. He threw it over top of her for extra warmth and lay down next to her, on top of the covers.

She hated to admit it, even to herself, but she was glad he hadn't left her to sleep alone. She didn't think she could go through another sleepless night, and she'd slept peacefully when she was with him on the train.

She really couldn't _stand_ him sometimes.

When the thunder started rolling again, building up over and over again in menacing rumbles until it would finally come crashing down around the place, Jethro reached over and placed a hand on her head, combing his fingers through her hair and down to her back. He touched her bared skin soothingly, his hands warm.

He had an unfathomable way of showing he cared even under the rough exterior.


	29. The Pace of Positano

_A/N: I'm on the ball this time, huh? :] We're drawing to a close here; Russian Twilight starts soon._

_"You never could pace yourself..." --Leroy Jethro Gibbs, Season3Ep"Under Covers"  
__"I have one word for you, Jethro: Positano." --Jennifer Shepard, Season3Ep"Under Covers"  
"That was the week after I took a bullet!" --Leroy Jethro Gibbs, Season3Ep"Under Covers"_

* * *

Jenny Shepard smiled smugly at the sight of William Decker. She lifted an eyebrow and pushed her sunglasses into her hair, making her way through the bar tables to where he sat at the bar, in flip-flops and a ridiculous Hawaiian shirt. Somehow, he fit.

She was grateful for the warmth in Positano. Sixty degrees compared with Paris's freezing temperatures was almost heaven to her.

"Cute place," Jenny remarked, perching herself on the stool next to Decker with a quizzically amused look. It looked like something out of a cheesy American Mafia movie.

Decker turned to her in surprise at being spoken to, and then grinned, reaching over to sling his arm around her shoulders and pull her into a friendly hug, shrugging nonchalantly.

"Good to see ya, Shepard!"

"Seriously, Will, it looks like a Tiki Hut."

"Ah," he sighed, waving his hand at her and holding up a very fruity looking drink with an umbrella. Jenny tilted her head at it and lifted an eyebrow. "I needed a drink."

She looked at him, rolled her eyes, and tapped her fingers on the bar for the tender, taking a vindictive pleasure in the fact that Jethro wasn't here to stop her ordering something light, fruity, and not containing bourbon.

"I know what you mean," she muttered darkly, setting her purse on the bar before her and leaning forward on crossed arms.

"Heard Gibbs took a hit," Decker said casually.

She turned her head towards him, the red hair she had pulled into a low side pony tail spilling over her shoulders and hanging to brush the bar wispily. She squinted at him in the new light from the sun at the angle and blew a few strands of hair out of her face.

"Yeah," she said, a mix of exhaustion and irritation.

"Bad?"

She blew air through her lips again, and accepted her drink from the bartender without a word in his direction.

"Not bad enough," she muttered under her breath, plucking a paper umbrella out of the way and dropping it in Decker's drink. He looked at it, raised his eyebrows, and grinned.

"That bad, huh?" he asked brightly, taking a drink of whatever he had. He whistled slowly. "Damn. I can't imagine being cooped up with Gibbs while he's injured. Must be difficult."

"That is the understatement of the freaking millennium," Jenny growled.

"Want to trade?" Decker asked good-naturedly, swiveling on his stool towards her. "Me and you, 'stead of you and Gibbs?"

Jenny smirked.

"Didn't think so," Decker said at the mocking look on her face. He smiled wickedly. "Nah, you've got reason to stick around Gibbs, eh?" he teased, wriggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Jenny rolled her eyes and lifted her glass, pushing the straw out of her way and taking a long drink from the side, eyeing the other people at the bar. Decker had made a good choice; these customers were all barely legal kids.

"You still think I've got a thing with Gibbs, Will?" she asked lightly, lowering her glass with an inquiring eye.

"You gonna tell me you don't, Red?" he asked skeptically.

"Jethro wishes," she drawled, slanting her eyes darkly. So she was pissed at him right now. It couldn't hurt to bash him a little to Decker. Even if it made poor Will think he had a chance next to Jethro.

What Jethro didn't know wouldn't hurt him…or better yet, wouldn't hurt her.

"Don't call me red," she added, giving Decker a narrow look.

"Sounded cute," he baited.

"Hmmm?" she mused sarcastically. "Sounded like a death knoll to me. Speaking of, don't we have technicalities to discuss?"

"Damn good segue," Decker snorted. "You tell me, _ma'am_, I'm here to be _handled_."

Jenny allowed him a laugh at the pun.

She was glad Decker seemed to have recovered from losing his partner not too long ago.

"I have information for you from NCIS Sigonella," she said conversationally, "Direct from Tom, it seems."

"Good. I've been waiting for it," Decker murmured. He reached down, fumbled in his pocket, and pulled out a cigarette case. Jenny looked at it distastefully.

"Do as the Romans do doesn't mean picking up disgusting habits, Will," she reprimanded.

He grinned.

"I doubt the Romans had flash drives in their cigarette cases,"

"I doubt they had cigarette cases," mused Jenny, taking the metal case from him with a smile. "What's it for?" she asked, aware there was something for her computer inside. She ran her thumb over the carved design and then slipped it into a pocket in her purse, coming out with a nail file just to look occupied.

"It's your homework," Decker said brightly, "Jethro's too. I've been working counter terrorism and intelligence since they dropped us back in Europe—arms deals and anti-government groups,"

"Which ones?" Jenny interrupted sharply. She turned alert eyes on him, ignoring the mild surprise on his face at her avid interest.

"Russian, with ties to the Italian Mafia in America, and those groups selling to terrorist groups in the Middle East. A few rogue rings like the upstarts we unraveled in Paris. The big fish is a mogul still living in the cold war—trading mostly stolen weapons. KGB connections, among others."

"Vance said you were working Intel for our next op," Jenny murmured, referring to herself and Jethro.

He lifted a shoulder, non committal.

"I've been handling an Agent in Serbia, laundering his money, orchestrating his trades. He's a real hard-headed risk taker with a few complexes. Thinks he's batman. He's tempting the Russian ring, gauging how easy it would be to infiltrate…s'pose to be bringing down a rival ring for them in Chechnya. "

Jenny frowned, sipping her drink slowly this time through the straw.

"The Intel I gathered for you on my own and from Sigonella pertains to target locations and names in Chechnya. I went a little beyond," Jenny hesitated, "I connected some of the names I recognized in the arms world to some of the French runners and tied them together."

Decker looked impressed.

"No wonder they're keeping an eye on you, Shepard," he mused. "Who made you the authority on arms dealers?"

"Call it a hobby," Jenny murmured sarcastically, looking into her drink.

Decker held up his hands as if to show surrender and went a little silent. He drank quietly next to Jenny, and looked up at her neutrally.

"Truth is, the agent they've got in pretty deep in Chechnya and Serbia works alone. It's dangerous, and we can't risk bringing down a ring using him—too easy to trace, too easy to lose an operative. Besides, he's valuable and we want to be able to keep him in Russia long after this next op goes down—"

"This agent got a name?" Jenny interrupted.

"You sound like _Gibbs_," Decker said, with a freaked-out look.

Jenny snorted. _Wouldn't he be proud?_

"Yeah, and he's gonna need his ass rescued soon. There will be more details when we finish working it out--Callan. Name's G Callan."

"G?" Jenny repeated.

Decker nodded. She sighed patronizingly.

"What does the G stand for, Will?"

"I don't know." She glared at him. "What? I don't! He claims he doesn't know!"

"Oh, lovely, another smart-ass," Jenny muttered.

"You really aren't getting along with Gibbs, are you?" Decker asked gleefully.

"Do you want that umbrella shoved up your nostril?"

"Er, no?"

Jenny gave him a pointed look, and he shut his trap. She reached into her purse and pulled out a disc, enclosed neatly in a CD case advertising _The Village People_. She smiled sweetly as she handed it to Decker.

"Your Intel,"

"Aw, come on, Shepard," he groaned, looking at the half-dressed cop, Native American, and handy-man—among others.

"I knew you'd love it," Jenny sighed. She laughed and took another drink of whatever she had ordered, she didn't remember now. It tasted too sickly-sweet in her mouth, and she cursed the fact that she didn't have a taste for this frilly stuff after months and months of bourbon.

"Hey," Decker said, looking at her seriously, "You and Gibbs have to _know_ that information, on the flash drive, like it's your own lives, understand? It's vital. This time you're both going in deep and there won't be room for missteps."

Jenny nodded curtly. It was irrational to feel as excited as she did about what seemed like a pending arms operation, but she couldn't help it. She'd almost had her end game thrown directly into her lap.

"I'll be in touch next week," Decker mumbled, he had his phone out and was checking a missed call. "Day or so after Christmas, with direct orders. In the mean time, keep up your side of the Intel."

"Hey," Jenny said lightly, "I'm in charge here."

Decker smirked, closing his phone.

"And I'm late for a drink with Senorita Catalina," he said, raising his brows again.

Jenny closed her mouth over her straw and flicked her hand at him to shoo him away, smiling teasingly in his direction. He spun off the stool and slid sunglasses over his eyes, leering at her.

"Will," she called absently, as an afterthought. So it didn't look quite pre-mediated, she spoke through her straw, casually.

"Keep your ears open for the name Rene Benoit," she said lightly, "Slimy bastard in the arms business."

Decker nodded, saluted her, and then used his hand to blow a kiss. Jenny stuck her heel-clad foot out and kicked him in the knee. He grinned and sauntered off, his phone at his ear. Jenny heard him greet someone on the other line with a ridiculous line as he disappeared in the crowd.

She turned back to the bar with a grin, taking her time to finish her drink. Jethro was having a hard time handling the fact that she had an assignment to cover while he healed. Not that he was healing. She shouldn't have to force him to let her help change a bandage more than twice a day, and he sure as hell shouldn't be harboring a perpetual fever.

It was good to be out and away from the tension. The fact that he was as sexually frustrated as she was wasn't really helping matters, but she refused to contribute to the derailing of his healing process. From the sound of it, she was going to need him in perfect condition for their next assignment.

She was staring at her glass, contemplating treating herself to another drink, when it suddenly occurred to her Decker had left and she was paying for the bill. She narrowed her eyes at her nearly empty glass and changed her mind, deciding to track down Decker instead and tell this Senorita Catalina that he had Herpes.

She tapped the counter for the bartender, her fingers lingering in her purse for her wallet, when the Italian man turned around, looked at her raised eyebrow, and then shook his head.

"American?" he asked tentatively, in a thick accent.

She nodded.

"You drink," he gestured, as if unsure she understood his English, "It is taken care of. "

Jenny raised her eyebrows in surprise.

"Oh is it?" she asked sweetly. "By whom?"

The man grinned and pointed down the bar. Jenny tilted her head in that direction, sharp eyes following the line he pointed. A relatively attractive man gave her a charming smile from a few seats down and she returned the smirk dangerously, noticing that the woman sitting next to him—with her hand on his thigh—was oblivious to what was going on.

Jenny stood gracefully and slung her purse over her shoulder fluidly, waltzing over to the man. His girlfriend, chattering rapidly in Italian, fell silent immediately and narrowed her eyes.

"_Francaise_?" she asked in French.

"_Si_," the woman answered levelly, in unison with Jenny's drink buyer. Jenny smiled wickedly.

Jenny leaned close to the gentlemen, her eyes glinting dangerously, and spoke softly in perfect French.

"Thanks for the drink," she purred, turning to the woman and touching her under the chin, "but you're not really my type." She winked at the girl just to add suggestion and turned on her heel, smiling at the sharp smack she heard behind her.

She flicked her sunglasses down over her eyes again when she reached the busy streets of Positano, shielding her eyes from the sun. A few boutiques caught her eye and she veered towards them without hesitation. If she wasn't buying her drink, why not spend the money on something pretty?

Perhaps she'd let Jethro see it if he decided to play nice later.

She moseyed around in a lingerie shop, debating whether or not he deserved it. Running her fingers through silk, lace, and leather, she contemplated ways to use it against him. The Italian brands were nice, though flimsy, but her lingerie never lasted long with him anyway. Something for Christmas, maybe?

She placed a fuzzy Santa hat on top of her head and smirked, wrinkling her nose.

_Speaking of Christmas_…she mused, placing the hat delicately back where she'd found it. The stern looking sales-woman was watching her like a hawk. Jenny sauntered over to the stockings and considered them, her head tilted. Unconventional, maybe, but Jethro would approve—though they definitely weren't for hanging over the fireplace.

On second thought, he wouldn't like the buckles. He'd have trouble with them.

Jenny snickered to herself, easily amused by considering ways to frustrate him. She settled for a small bottle of scented massage oil by the counter, more for her benefit than his. She deserved it, once he woke up and realized what an ass he'd been lately.

The next shop sported bathing suits in the window, advertising low prices. Christmas seemed an odd time to still have swim attire out, but it was rather warm here, and Jenny admitted to herself that she wasn't going to pass up a swim in the ocean down in front of their villa.

She couldn't decide—there was a tempting army green bikini, low cut around the hips and stringy at the top; or a similarly cut crimson on that she thought might flatter her better up top. It took a good ten minutes of debating before she decided the red would look better wet, and bought it from the young salesman, who kept glancing from it to her surreptitiously.

Stepping back out to the streets, she checked the time on her phone. No calls from Jethro, but she was willing to be he was storming around the villa (if not Italy itself) growling for her. She was sure he was bored out of his mind with no one to yell at.

She deliberately steered herself away from shoe stores. She had too many shoes. She had spent twenty minutes trying to compel all of them to fit into her suitcase. It didn't help that she'd bought three pairs in Paris, and one pair in London.

She wasn't ready to return yet. She wanted to relax a little more, and maybe then she could keep her cool the next time Jethro picked a fight with her. She was doing pretty well, just walking out of the room when he snapped at her. He was snapping at her for everything, though.

For God's sake, he'd snapped at her for leaving a cup of coffee in the sink. That had actually made her laugh.

Closer to their villa, she took interest in shops targeted more at men. Mildly interested, she found her way into one that seemed like a Tiffany's for men, full of watches and other like items. She spent a few minutes poking around cologne. Skeptical, she sampled one entitled _Woodwork_ and crinkled her nose, replacing it. It smelled nothing like him.

She didn't think she was interested in anything until she came across a case full of pocket items, among them leather wallets, high-end beepers, and crafted knives. She paused, her eyes on a sleek black switchblade with silver trim.

The salesman noticed her in all of five seconds and oozed over, his eyes glinting with the prospect of selling something. She was already interested, and asked him politely about it. He spoke English well, with a clipped, professional accent, and launched into a list of merits of the product.

Jenny listened, looking at the switchblade carefully. Jethro's was old; the handle was chipped, there was a nick in the blade. She knew he'd love this.

"Did you say you can have it engraved?" Jenny murmured, looking up. She rested her hand on the glass. The man nodded eagerly.

"May I see it?" she asked. The man opened the case from behind and carefully handed her the knife, nestled in a neatly kept handkerchief.

Jenny ran her fingers over the smooth surface, gingerly touching the blade and examining the flash of her reflection in it. She smirked slowly.

She spoke shortly with the salesman, instructing what she wanted engraved on it, and paid in cash for what she'd decided was Jethro's Christmas present. When it was handed to her half an hour later, after she'd looked at everything in the shop twice, she thanked the salesman warmly and tucked the cedar wood box into her purse carefully.

It wouldn't kill her to go home now.

It was fading into late afternoon, and she didn't think it smart to be out after dark. She headed back slowly anyhow, enjoying the light breeze and the laughter and conversation of the people.

Walking up the gravelly path towards the villa, she looked around at the vacationing and native families, most of them chasing children around and keeping them from getting in trouble. She pulled her hair from its fastener and ran her fingers through it, shaking it over her shoulders.

Jenny fished her key out of her purse when she reached the door and inserted it in the lock, turning it. When she reached down to open the door, it didn't budge. Frowning, she jiggled it harder, and then grudgingly realized she'd just locked the door.

"Dammit, Jethro," she muttered loudly, letting loose a string of curses under her breath.

"What was that, Jen?" he asked sternly, and she squeaked in surprise as the door flew open and she lost her balance, having been leaning against it while she went to unlock it for real. She steadied herself and glared at him.

"You need to keep the damn door locked. We're not in DC," she reprimanded in a grumble, stomping through the door. He pushed it closed behind her.

She heard the loud, forceful clicking of the lock.

"Happy?" he asked mockingly.

"No," she answered petulantly, slipping her heels off by the door with a darker glare. So he was going to start right where they'd left off.

"You don't take this seriously," she snapped.

"Christ," she heard him mutter. "Decker didn't do much for your mood."

"My mood?" she scoffed, pausing in her movements and looking at him as if he were crazy. He gave her a scowl and she bit her tongue, blowing out air in irritation and pushing her hands through her hair. "Right. Okay, Jethro," she appeased sarcastically, dropping her purse next to her shoes.

She left him in the foyer, stalking into the kitchen.

"Oh, _look_ who's coffee cup is in the sink _now_," she mocked loudly, rolling her eyes. This was getting to be too much.

"Yours looked _lonely_," was the smart ass reply from another room. Jenny snorted, flicking on the faucet and letting hot water run over the twin coffee cups that now had dried junk in them. She washed out the cups and, with a lot of unnecessary slamming replaced them in cupboards.

"What did Decker have to say?" Jethro asked, from a far closer distance this time. She looked up from the sink she'd been staring at and blinked. She shrugged.

"We've got a big play coming up. There's a lot of stealth an Intel involved," she told him neutrally. Her eyes snapped sharply onto his. "You need to be in shape. Recovered properly," she told him.

She saw his jaw tighten and braced herself.

"I'm recovering fine."

"Still have that fever?" she asked, concern not quite hidden. She noticed he was holding himself awkwardly; he was clearly hurting. He was either not on pain meds right now because they made him sleep or the amount he was taking wasn't cutting it anymore.

He glared at her from his spot.

"I'm serious, Jethro," she said quietly.

"No, you're ridiculous," he growled. "How many times do I have to tell you I'm fine to get you off my back?"

"You're not fine, Jethro, you're injured and you're letting yourself get sick because you won't balance pain medication and rest. You just think you can do whatever the hell you want and nothing's going to hurt you—"

"Dammit, Jenny, I know what my limits are!"

"No, Jethro, I don't think you do," she said sharply. "You toss through fevers at night and crunch painkillers all day, and you know your limits? That wound is going to get infected because you're such a stubborn bastard, and you won't listen to a goddamn word I say—"

"All you do is nag, Jen!" he barked, and Jenny widened her eyes in surprise. "You're starting to sound like Diane—_I'm_ starting to feel like I'm married again because _you_ won't shut the hell up!"

Her eyes narrowed considerably at the comparison.

"You don't understand you—you," she was suddenly so angry she could barely find the appropriate words to express it.

"I'm trying to help you, Jethro! Why don't you understand that?"

"I don't need help! I am _fine_, Goddammit—leave me the hell alone and stop treating me like an invalid!"

"How does your own medicine taste, Jethro?" she shouted sarcastically, stepping up to him. Her eyes flashed angrily. "It's maddening to be treated like you need to be _protected_ and taken care of, isn't it?"

He stared at her stonily. He didn't realize how close to tears she was underneath the anger.

"I never smothered you like this!"

"You _hypocrite_!" she yelled.

She threw her hands up in frustration and smacked a palm down on the counter next to the sink, looking at him in disbelief.

"You're an arrogant, _stubborn_, chauvinistic _bastard_ you know that, Jethro?"

"And you can be a real self-righteous, sneaking little _bitch_ when you want to, Jen," he fired back lividly.

Jenny looked like she'd been smacked, her cheeks went so white. She locked her jaw and swallowed hard, her eyes going blank of emotion for a split second before the rage shone through again.

His anger abated a little. He shouldn't have called her that. It had obviously done the trick, but he hadn't meant for it to sting so much. She pushed herself violently away from the sink and bit her lip, as if holding something back.

"You don't know how much you make me hate you sometimes," she snarled, and he could hear the injury in her voice because he knew she wasn't trying to hide it. She went to shove past him, her shoulder hitting him roughly, purposefully, in her attempt to get out.

Jethro leapt back and lurched to the side to catch her, preventing her from leaving, his arm wrapping around hers. She wrenched his hand away with her fingernails and he stepped back, glaring, twisting to hold his other arm out, so they could finish this for good. The angle sent a stinging burn through his abdomen and up his spine, like someone had poured salt directly into his wound, and he flinched, bending forward, a grunt of pain escaping his teeth.

"Jethro?" he heard her ask, the pitch of her voice going up in worry. She leaned over, her hands fluttering at his side, pulling his shirt up.

"You're bleeding," she said softly, her hands running over the thin bandages. He squeezed his eyes shut, pushing through the pain in his head, counting to ten. Jen's fingers were soothing against his skin. She sighed in frustration. "Goddammit, Jethro, why do you _do_ this? Why don't---"

Sick of it, he smacked her hand away, more roughly than me meant to. Jenny pulled away as if she'd been burned. He looked up at her in contrition and she looked back, her hair falling around her face wildly, and for a minute there was nothing but crackling electricity. He considered it briefly, but he knew this wasn't going to be fixed with a kiss.

Slowly, she spoke, looking briefly defeated, and very hurt. Her voice was hoarse.

"Why won't you let me help you?"

He knew she didn't mean any harm. He was frustrated. He didn't want to display weakness with her around—with _anyone_ around. She just cared, and that was why it was so hard.

He straightened up, his hand over the bandage, looking at her coldly. He didn't say anything.

"Why are you doing this, why do you treat me like this?" she demanded, her volume rising. The anger was back in her eyes. It seemed to be shining brighter every time, maybe because she was getting more upset and he knew she was trying not to cry.

"Jen—"

"_Don't_," she interrupted, sounding desperate, "Don't Jethro! I watch you bleed! I lay next to you while you're tossing and turning at night! I know you're hurting, it's not like I don't know it hurts like hell! Why don't you understand I'm trying to help and I don't fucking care if you have to lay in bed because you're injured—didn't you tell me that weakness and injury are different? Does that only apply to me because I'm your fragile damsel in distress? I hate that you do this to yourself because you---you're stubborn, or self-destructive, or just an asshole—it has to stop, Jethro! You have to let me in!"

It was all coming out now. He listened to her quietly, watching her facial expressions and the movement of her shoulders and muscles as she yelled, pleading with him.

"I can't do this, Jethro! It's like you—you resent me, you don't want me around—you can't be bothered to understand how this is affecting me, that would be too selfless for _you_."

"What's bothering you, Jen?" he asked quietly. He narrowed his eyes and squinted slightly, studying her. She looked so tired, so distressed. He knew he was being a cranky bastard but there was more than just that.

"YOU ARE!" she screamed.

"No," he shook his head, "You lay awake at night too. You blaming yourself? Come on, Jen, what is it? _Talk_."

"Shut-up. Just shut-up! Why should I talk to you, you don't give a damn!"

He moved towards her. She looked at him fiercely, as if daring him to try and touch her.

"I want you to be okay, Jethro! Do you GET THAT?"

"I am okay!"

"You're not! Dammit, you smug bastard—"

"Jen," he said sharply, "What is _wrong_ with you?"

"I can't sleep!" she broke, reaching out as if to tell him to stop moving closer. Her eyes fell to his side, where blood had stained through his t-shirt a little. "I have nightmares about it, about you—you covered in blood, and my fath—" she broke off, catching herself, swallowing, glaring at him through a misty haze of tears. "And I wake up, and you push me away."

"You have nightmares about me?" he asked, his brows coming together. He was confused, frustrated. "Jenny, for god's sake, I'm fine. I'm alive. Jesus."

She shook her head disbelievingly.

"I almost lost you."

"You didn't. You shouldn't let it get to you, its part of the job. Nightmares," he murmured towards the end. "Why?" he asked, as if trying to understand.

Her lip shook and she bit it to keep it steady.

"You took a bullet for me," she whispered hoarsely. He looked at her stonily. "You _took_ a bullet for _me_!" she yelled, her voice catching. "That's not supposed to scare the hell out of me? Keep me up at night? Jethro you—you—and then you treat me like I don't care enough about you to deserve to take care of you!"

He just pulled back a little. He didn't want to talk about it. He hadn't thought about it when he stepped in front of her. He'd just known the trajectory, with their height difference, would have hit her too close to the heart where it ripped through his side instead.

"Do you understand now?" she asked softly, as if she couldn't yell anymore.

"Jenny," he sighed, shaking his head. He was frustrated. She couldn't just let him be. He tried to understand how she was feeling—and he did, but it was hard. It was hard to let her take care of him. "Jenny, let it go."

"You don't get it, Jethro," she hissed, "You don't. You don't know how I feel right now because you wouldn't ask me about it to save your life. I'm angry and upset, and confused. I want to make you stop hurting, but you won't let me touch you! When you jumped in front of me, you scared the hell out of me. I just want to help," she pleaded tiredly.

In desperate frustration, he replied:

"I don't need help, I don't want you to _help_! I want you to act normal! Laugh! I can take care of myself! Don't walk on eggshells around me, dammit, Jenny, act like _Jen_ and not my mother or Ducky, or god _forbid_ Diane,"

She looked at him in dejection, like she was trying to figure out if she'd liked what he said or not. She pressed her lips together and swallowed, and he thought it was going to be okay for a minute.

She shook her head and brought her hand up to cover her eyes. She tucked hair behind her ears with the other hand. Jenny's shoulders shook and she started to cry, removing her hand from her face and looking away from him.

He winced. He'd never seen her do this before, cry because he'd verbally upset her or because they were fighting. He'd seen her cry from pain, exhaustion, or anger. This was different. She was sad.

Jenny left the room before he could swallow and register the feeling of emptiness that washed over him. He turned towards the door.

"Jenny," he croaked in a half-hearted yell, sighing.

He turned and slammed both fists onto the counter, ignoring the acute pain in his side at the violent action.

He didn't even think as he stormed into the hall and jammed his feet into shoes. He barely remembered to grab his cell phone, just in case, before he left, shutting the door quietly, though it took all his willpower not to slam it. He jerked on a windbreaker over his blood stained t-shirt and zipped it up, blinking in the balmy Italian wind.

He kicked gravel, swallowing his guilt, and walking off in the fading sunlight of afternoon, to cool off and to think.

* * *

It bothered him that Jenny was at the villa crying.

He knew that if he was there, he would only make it worse. He didn't know what to say. He didn't have the right wiring to calm her or soother her when he wasn't even sure what she _wanted_ to hear him say. He knew he wanted her to stop crying, and sleep.

Clouds had ousted the sun from the sky now, and it was considerably colder without them. It wasn't cool enough to bother him, but the streets were getting a little emptier. It was nearing sundown and supper time. He'd left an hour ago, and wandered aimlessly.

His thoughts were on Jenny and the way he'd acted. He hadn't wanted to make her think he didn't want her around. He just despised her hovering like he was about to fall apart when he really didn't think he was in that bad of a shape. He'd been through worse in the Gulf and in Desert Storm.

But then, she didn't know about Desert Storm.

He knew she had an instinct to nurture, it was a woman thing, but she really had driven him crazy thinking he didn't know what he could handle. He did. At least he thought he did, but after that fight he wasn't quite sure. It bothered him she was having nightmares about it. He didn't understand why it was so traumatic, he was _fine_.

Yet, the more he walked around, the worse he felt for the way he'd treated her. He couldn't shake the look on her face at hearing herself called a bitch. She made him so angry it was hard to rein it in sometimes, and he was sure he did the same to her.

She'd done so much lately, dealing with Vance, helping handle Decker's op while they were here, not to mention the stunts she'd pulled off before. He didn't appreciate her enough sometimes. He could tell her more. He could tell her he loved her more, but he didn't want it to lose its meaning. And it was hard to say it, even if he already had. Every time he let the words slip past his lips, it was like pushing Shannon's memory further away.

And Jenny was even more reserved about saying it. She wasn't like other woman, women like Diane, who'd thrown 'I love you' around like 'Hello' and 'Goodbye'. She was nothing like them. Jenny was like _him_.

Which is why, he thought in frustration, he should understand her emotions better.

He grunted in irritation under his breath and turned onto another street, his walk stiff and slow. The cold wasn't exactly comfortable for his wound. Trying to think of anything else, he let his eyes roam over the service shops and stores on this street, looking for anything interesting.

He stopped in his tracks outside of one, glancing studiously at a leather coat displayed on a mannequin in the window. Without checking the name of the store, he walked in through the glass doors, throwing a cursory look at the various other coats inside before he found the rack holding the ones that had caught his interest.

He ran his hand along the butter-soft leather, his eyebrows going up at how good it felt to the touch. It was long, like a navy pea coat, but infinitely more feminine and delicate. Shrugging, he flicked through the coats, just to see if Jenny's size was present.

He pulled the appropriate coat out and held it up, frowning as he pictured it on her. She needed a damn coat, that he knew. It was something he could do for her. She'd like the creamy, off-white color and the smooth chocolate brown buttons. Trying to numb his mind, he bought the leather coat, and watched silently as the woman at the counter folded it expertly and settled it into a box filled with filmy tissue paper.

Price didn't even occur to him. Nothing was too expensive for Jenny.

With the box under his arm, he relaxed a little, focusing on the throb that was starting in his side instead of his plight with Jenny. She'd be amused if she knew he was out shopping. The thought of the mocking look on her face made him smile slightly.

It was getting dark, and the streets emptier still. He turned and headed back to the villa the long way, wanting to give her time. He didn't know what he'd face when he returned; a silent and cold Jenny or one who'd yet to re-appear. All in all, he wasn't sure where they stood now.

On a whim, as he passed a vendor selling flowers, he backtracked, stopping the woman as she closed and looking. He took it as a good sign that she had some of the biggest orchids he'd ever seen, and purchased a couple. The woman smiled at him, as if she thought it was sweet he was taking flowers to someone.

She had no idea.

Flowers in hand, he went home, thinking that it was damn lucky he had a good memory or he wouldn't be able to get back in the dark. The families that had made so much noise were in the house now, except for a few stray kids ignoring calls to come in for dinner. No one paid attention to them; the three villas surrounding theirs were empty and they were a little secluded from the families.

He was in the villa when he grudgingly accepted her needed to do something about his wound. He went up the stairs to the open expanse that led to a patio and put the coat in the one closet up there that they weren't using before he came back down stairs and went through the bedroom into the marble bathroom.

He dug out the first aid kit Jenny had and pulled off his shirt, taking off the bandages swiftly. They resisted in dried blood and he bit his tongue when he jerked them off, ignoring the brief sting. He was bleeding again. The edges of the bullet hole were scarred and bruised from where they'd been cauterized and the wound itself looked red and inflamed.

He ran a washcloth under warm water and dabbed rubbing alcohol over it, sucking in his breath through the pain. Once he had the bleeding stopped, he smeared some of the antiseptic Jenny had bought over it and taped over it loosely with a rough bandage, finding a long sleeved button up shirt to pull on over him. He winced at the movement but neglected to take any pain medicine.

Jenny would be able to dress the wound better. He'd had the least trouble with it the one time she'd forced him to let her. He groaned and rubbed his forehead, listening for her. He didn't think she was in the house.

He got out his cell phone and pushed speed-dial one. From the bedroom, Jenny's phone started ringing. He leaned against the bathroom door and watched it light up on the bed. He didn't even have the heart to get angry because she was unreachable. He was more concerned with where she was.

He trudged out of the bedroom and into the open, airy sitting room at the back of the villa that looked over the cliffs. He stared at the appearing stars and moon, and the rolling water, until he noticed someone standing on the beach.

He watched uncertainly for a minute. She sat down, leaned back, and sat motionless, watching the ocean roll. He knew it was Jenny. She'd stayed within sight deliberately, so she wouldn't have to take her phone. Frowning, he returned to the bedroom, picked up a blanket because he thought she might be cold, and threw his phone on the bed next to hers.

He had the flowers in his hand when he left out the back door, fully prepared to let her yell at him and smother him for climbing down cliffs with a bullet wound if she wanted to.

The sand was a lot easier on him than the loose rocks were, and it was cool and soothing when he got to it. He didn't try to sneak up on Jenny; he walked towards her purposefully, not even knowing what he was going to say.

She sat up and her head moved towards him a little when he got close. Without a word, Jethro dropped the blanket around her shoulders, sitting down next to her with a grunt. He wrapped his hands around his knees loosely and looked straight ahead.

After a few minutes of silence, he brushed her leg gently with the orchids.

"I thought," he said slowly, just feeling around in his head and picking words slowly, "these might help my case."

Jenny reached down and touched one of the petals gingerly, staying still. He caught the scent of her shampoo as she turned her head towards him a little. She was listening.

"Then I figured it would be better to just say," he swallowed and looked over at her to find her watching him. "I'm sorry, Jenny," he apologized hesitantly.

She took the flowers from him without looking and brought them closer to her face, smiling a little.

"For taking the bullet?" she joked weakly, her voice hoarse from crying.

Jethro snorted. He might have made it sound that way.

He put and arm around her and pulled her head towards him, kissing her forehead and then her cheek.

"For being a bastard," he murmured in her ear, pressing his temple into hers.

"You can't help it," she murmured back, and he smiled. Jenny had a good sense of humor. She shifted a little closer to him and he knew he'd been right in thinking she was cold. Jenny put her head on his shoulder. "I'm going to make you say it again, Jethro."

"I'm sorry," he murmured sincerely. Jenny nodded. She pulled the blanket around her and put her hand on his leg, curling into his side.

"I love you, Jen. Rule fifty-_one_," he told her, smirking. Being silly. He kissed her hair again.

"Yeah?" she said softly, her voice shaking a little. "Don't break that one, okay?"

He laughed, deep in his throat, and Jenny ran her hand over his leg caressingly. He sat with his arm around her while she admired the ocean with the orchids under her nose; glad he'd been able to do something. He felt better now. Except for all of her weight pressing into his bullet wound.

"Jenny," he said gruffly, after leaving her alone for a few minutes. "You're…hurting m—"

She had pulled away before he could finish his sentence.

"You're bleeding again," she murmured, looking up at him. She didn't say anything else. She looked at him like she was waiting to have her head bitten off. _Wonderful_, he thought, _I've killed her spirit._

"Yeah, uh," he muttered, looking down and then back up at her. He raised an eyebrow. "Anything you can do to fix that?"

Jenny pulled the blanket off of her shoulders and draped it over one arm, standing up slowly. She nodded her head towards the villa. Jethro grabbed her wrist and pulled her down as he pulled himself up, smirking at her. He slung his arm around her shoulders, leaning into her.

He raised his eyebrows when he realized she'd made their way to a path back up to the villa.

"There's a path," he grunted in interest.

"Yes—do _not_ tell me you climbed down the cliff, Leroy Jethro Gibbs."

"Well, I—"

"Seriously. If you did, I do not want to know," she muttered, sounding patronized. She sounded more confident now, at least.

He suppressed a grin and remained silent on the walk back to the villa.

"Come in here," she sighed, pulling him towards the bedroom. She flicked on the light and her brow furrowed when she noticed the first aid kit was already out. She gestured, and he sat down on the edge of the bath tub.

"Take your shirt off," she murmured, coming over to him.

"I've really missed hearing that," he quipped, tossing it at her. Jenny caught it with a more genuine smile and dropped it, kneeling on it so the stone floor wouldn't hurt her knees. She took hold of the haphazard bandage he'd put on and peeled it off, sighing when she saw the less-than-healed state of him.

"God, Jethro, what have you done to yourself," she murmured, and he chose not to respond.

She pulled the first aid kit down to the floor with her and pushed Jethro's knees apart. She reached behind him and turned on the bath faucet, kneeling between his legs so she could easily reach his side.

She just started cleaning it with soap and warm water first, rubbing gently. It barely even hurt her ministrations were so soft.

"Deck's gotten over it," she said quietly, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear, "Olivia. He's okay. He's working Intel for our next play," her voice was gentle and steady; soothing. "The Op focuses on arms rings, counter-terrorism. Russia." He'd never really realized how much he liked her to talk to him, just to hear her voice.

He just listened. He knew she was talking for herself, so he didn't have to.

"Close your mouth," she murmured, pouring alcohol onto the rag to sterilize the wound. He did as he was told so he wouldn't end up flinching and biting his tongue. Jenny touched the rag gingerly. The sting wasn't so bad the way she did it, and she did it quickly.

She held the washcloth to him, soaked in warm water, for sixty seconds, her eyes roaming up his chest to his face.

"Decker made a few jokes about us," she said, mildly amused, as she looked back to his wound and pulled the washcloth away, drying him off and then picking up the antiseptic gel. "Managed to convince him we weren't sleeping together," she murmured.

"Funny, you convinced me too," Jethro muttered.

Jenny smiled in spite of it all and pushed one hand into his chest as a reprimanding shove. She rubbed the antiseptic gel over his wound lightly, and not too thick.

"I don't want you bleeding all over me," she murmured teasingly, fanning her hand to dry the gel a little. She glanced up at him again. "It would do more damage than good, Jethro."

"Speak for yourself," he grumbled, touching her face. "Jen, when you fractured those ribs—"

She shook her head.

"It was different," she mumbled. He raised an eyebrow. "I knew my limits. You," she paused, as if struggling with the words. "That night. You needed it."

He let that accusation slide. He remembered that night vaguely. He'd been sure he'd called out for Shannon, but she hadn't said a word about it, and he doubted Jenny would let something like that slide. None of the others had.

"Okay, and on the counter in your kitchen?" he prompted. Jenny looked down to his side, her eyes flicking at him surreptitiously, and she picked up adhesive gauze, pressing it tight over his wound.

"Jethro," she murmured exasperation in her voice. She covered the gauze with a bandage that was sturdy and tough, and stuck flat.

He ran his hand over her cheek and pushed her head back, looking down at her. She sighed and relaxed back, resting one hand on his knee, the washcloth forgotten on the side of the bathtub.

"Hypocrite," he accused, with a small smirk.

Boldly, he reached down, took the hem of her sweater, and pulled it up over her head, dropping it to the floor with his button down.

Her soft-eyed look hardened into a mild glare at the slight. She reached out and took hold of his waist with her hands, running the pads of her fingers over his skin. She leaned forward and kissed his chest, her height on her knees perfect. Her warm lips lingered on his sternum, his ribcage, close to his wound and then his navel. Jethro threaded his fingers into her hair, his hand on the back of her head, and closed his eyes, biting back a groan.

Her fingers pulled gently at the waist of his jeans, slipping over the material until she found the button. He felt her tongue against his navel; her hand on the muscles toned in his lower abs, and pushed his fingers through her hair. She paused at the motion, raised her eyes to him, leaning into his chest.

"That's not what I want," he said quietly.

He stood up, and Jenny wrapped her fingers around his wrist, letting him take her with him. She laced her fingers through his, squeezed, and ran her hand up his arm to his neck, touching the hair at the nape lightly.

He grasped her slim waist in one hand and curved her into him. Jenny didn't fight him. She leaned forward and kissed his throat, her tongue tracing his collar bone, sensual and slow.

"Want me to throw the orchid petals on the bed?" he asked gruffly. Jenny laughed, and pulled back, pulling his arm.

She followed him into the bedroom and he took her and pushed her down first, crawling over her like he had when they'd first arrived a few nights ago. Jenny reached up to place her palms against his chest, forgoing contact but to kiss for the moment.

She let him run his tongue along her lips, coax her mouth open, nip at her with his teeth. He savored the taste of her mouth like it had been years, kissing until he couldn't breathe and then some. He slipped a hand under her back, unsnapped her bra, and pulled the straps down, letting her get them off of her arms. She stretched an arm out behind her on the bed, running the backs of her knuckles down his face and over his shoulder as he lowered his mouth to her breasts.

"Mmm," she murmured, hooking her toes into the cavity in the back of his jeans and tugging gently with her foot. She braced her heel against his back and moved his jeans down as much as she could before he sat back; stepping off the bed to get rid of them himself. He dropped jeans and boxers and ran his hands up her legs slowly, unfastening the button on her jeans and sliding them off her hips, his thumbs hooked into her panties.

She shook them off of her ankles as he pulled and dropped them to the floor; Jenny sat forward and shifted position on the bed. Jethro crawled back over her, his hand dragging up her body slowly. Jenny wrapped one of her legs around his, her hand running down his chest between them.

"Jen," he groaned, lowering his head to her shoulder when she encircled his length, scraping his teeth against her shoulder. Jenny wrapped her hand around his bicep and pressed her mouth to his neck. She wrapped a leg around his waist, putting pressure into his back with her heel, her hand still running over him, teasing.

He cupped her breast in one hand, running his thumb over her nipple until she arched towards him with a quiet moan. His breath hitched in his throat at her touch and he breathed out slowly, trying to keep control. He thrust towards her, against her, and Jenny gasped, pushing her head back into the pillows.

"Jethro," she breathed, swallowing. The movement of her throat lured him towards her; he kissed her neck, sucking lightly. "Jethro," she said again, her throat moving under his lips. He pulled back and looked at her, his forehead close to hers, his breathing growing ragged.

"I don't want to hurt you," she touched his face gently.

"_Jen_," he groaned, half-laughing. He ran his hand over hers between them and pulled it away, lacing his fingers into hers and pinning her arm to the pillow. He moved his other hand to her leg, pushing it up, holding it against his hip.

"Honey, the last thing I'm worried about is pain," he muttered, pressing his lips to hers quickly as he entered her in one swift movement. He watched her pupils contract and her eyes flutter; she drew her bottom lip into her mouth and closed her eyes.

Jenny arched her back, seeking contact with his hips as he moved. She drew her fingers out of his and ran her hand over his chest; he braced his arm next to her shoulder, listening to her breathing quicken, the moans in the back of her throat.

She touched his neck, and ran the tips over her fingers over his lips; Jethro was out of breath. His abdomen was protesting the movement but he really, really didn't think he had the will power to stop.

"Jethro?" she moaned, her eyes opening. It was a question he didn't answer. His abdomen clenched and he ground out her name between clenched teeth, finding it hard to exercise control. Wrapping his arm tightly around her waist, he ignored her sharp hiss of pain and upset her position, pulling her on top of him.

She gasped, surprised, her hands falling against his shoulders. He ran his hands up her arms and down her chest and stomach, finding the sensitive heat at her centre and caressing her.

"Jethro!" she cried sharply, her lips parting, her body shuddering around him. He pulled her hips down against him hard and she followed his lead, pushed over the edge by his hand, moaning as she dipped her forehead against his chest while he came, lost in her own release.

He stroked his hand over her thigh as she collapsed against his chest, pushing her hair out of her face with one shaking hand. She pressed a kiss to his chest and stayed still, listening to his heart beat. She couldn't really help it. She grinned.

"Wipe that smirk off your face," he growled, tugging a strand of her hair.

Jenny muffled a giggle in his chest. She languidly lifted her head and pressed a sympathetic, swift kiss to his parted lips, her tongue darting out to tease him, as she eased herself off of him and laid next to him, resting her head on his sweaty shoulder. She bit her lip, debating whether or not to tease him.

He deserved it.

"Leave some of your stamina in Paris, Jethro?" she asked quietly, and squealed when he pinched her side. She laughed into his neck and snuggled closer, her hot skin starting to cool in the breezy Italian night.

"You're satisfied," he muttered, running a hand below her belly. She gasped and pushed his hand away, a shiver running through her spine, too sensitive to be touched. She suppressed a smirk and kissed his shoulder lovingly, reaching across his chest with one arm to thread fingers into the hair there.

She wrinkled her nose with suppressed mirth and kissed his shoulder again, a wicked smile playing across her lips.

"Who was it you said needed to pace themselves…?"

"I just took a bullet!" he growled, on the defensive instantly.

Jenny rubbed her hand over his heartbeat, and trailed her fingers down to the expert job she'd done dressing his wound. She felt his fingers tangle into her hair and pulled it back over her shoulders, spreading it onto the pillows.

Lazily, Jenny brought her finger up to run in circles over Jethro's chest. She slowly traced her name on his skin, and propped herself up on one arm. Jethro stroked her shoulder, glaring at her when he caught the glint in her eye.

She heard a warning growl in the back of his throat and leaned over to shut his whiny butt up with a kiss. She hooked a leg over him and straddled his hips again, resting her elbows on his chest and looking at him with pursed lips, her hair spilling over one shoulder. She leaned down and kissed him slowly, pulling his bottom lip between her teeth and sucking gently, her eyes on his. She pressed kisses from the corner of his mouth to his jaw and nipped his ear with her teeth, smirking.

"I bet," she said silkily, in a purring whisper, "you'd last longer in a hot bath," she licked her lips, brushing his ear as she spoke. His muscles pulled tight under her thighs and he stroked the inside of her thigh. She closed her eyes and bit her lip, holding back a whimper.

"You're on," he growled, his deep voice husky in her ear.

* * *

_Note: I am aware there are only 50 rules, as stated by Gibbs (to Kate, I believe). Rule 51 is mine!_


	30. Auld Lang Syne

_A/N: Thanks to Aly--there were no shoes destroyed in this chapter (I'm saving that for Russian Twilight!), but you did get your boat conversation:]_

_Alas, Paris Nights draws to a close with this chapter. This makes me sad. I know the update didn't come quick, but I expect you'll forgive me when you discover the length (and fluffy-ness!) of the chapter. :) It could have been up faster...but I thought it fitting to update on Christmas Eve. _

_And oh yeah; almost forgot: There's a flashback alluded to from Season3Ep"Jeopardy". I think you all know which one. _

* * *

Jenny Shepard breathed in deeply, remembering how much she loved the fresh, soothing scent of pine needles. It had been a long time since she'd taken the time to care about Christmas, or even had the heart to, but it was hard not to love it again now.

She had yet to figure out how Jethro had produced a real and particularly beautiful tree and subsequently snuck it by her, but he had, and it had taken up cozy residence in the open area that comprised the second floor.

She and Jethro had been sleeping on the second floor. It was warmer up there, due to the laws of science, and Jenny liked the air, open feel the second floor gave with its many windows and French balcony. Jenny actually just liked the villa in general. She didn't want to leave anytime soon.

She heard Jethro coming back up the stairs and stepped closer to the Christmas tree, rising up on her tip toes a little to place the candy cane she was holding on one of the branches. She nodded approvingly and turned her head as she heard Jethro enter the room, a paper bag in his hands.

She rolled her eyes at him, making it clear she disapproved of him continuously carrying items up the stairs, and he dropped the paper bag loudly to the floor in response, rolling his eyes right back.

Jenny picked up another candy cane from the box at her feet and ran a decorator's eye over the tree. Jethro scooted the bag he'd brought closer to her with his foot and crossed his arms, looking at her work so far.

"Did you bring more candy canes?" Jenny asked skeptically, lifting an eyebrow at him.

He snorted, and looked pointedly at the box of them at her feet. He had gone slightly over board with candy canes. Jenny leaned up and reached for a higher branch this time. Jethro snatched the candy cane from her and placed it higher than she could reach, nudging her shoulder playfully out of the way.

Jenny pushed back, rolling her head against his shoulder with a smile.

"What's in the bag?" she whispered secretively, running a hand up his arm. Jethro crouched down and yanked her with him, causing her to lose her balance and fall on her backside. She squealed in surprise and kicked his foot in retaliation, frowning when he kept his balance effortlessly and reached into the bag with a smug look.

He pulled out a mass of sparkling red garland and lights. He placed the tangle of Christmas lights on the floor and fell back on his heels, throwing the garland at her. Jenny wrinkled her nose as it cascade over her head and shoulders. She reached up to pull it off of her head and inched closer, wrapping her arms loosely around her knees as she looked at the knotted lights.

"Who knew you had such a Christmas spirit," she teased, arching an eyebrow. She had to admit being a little surprised. He grunted at her and shrugged, retrieving the last item from the bottom of the bag. He held the green, felt, elf hat out to her with a smirk.

Jenny looked at it, pursed her lips seductively, and took it, placing it on her head without a fight.

"I have just the…" she pretended to fumble for words, and lowered her voice, "_outfit_ to go with this."

He just raised his eyebrows with a smile on his face.

Jethro stood up with the lights in his hand, starting to disentangle them, and Jenny pulled herself up with him, using his arm for leverage. She shook out the long rope of garland and tilted her head at the tree, contemplating whether to start at the top or the bottom. She bit her lip.

Jethro laughed under his breath next to her and she snapped her gaze to him suspiciously.

"What?" she asked.

He smirked at her, holding a part of the light strand with his teeth while he pulled the last tangle out. He handed her the end of the string and she dropped the garland in favor it, still glaring at him expectantly.

"Nothing," he said gruffly, starting to string lights on the tree. She glared at his bent back darkly.

He glanced up at her as he made his way slowly around the tree, one hand resting on his thigh, and grinned again. She narrowed her eyes.

"Hat's adorable, Jen," he mocked, smirking.

Jenny scowled at him.

"I'll show you adorable," she muttered under her breath threateningly. She waited until he had gotten most of the tree's lower half decorated with lights and was standing at his normal height again, carefully situating strands on the branches.

Jenny dropped the lights she was holding so he paused and looked down at them, frowning. She crept up behind him and reached between his legs, running her hand up the inseam of his pants and cupping him.

Jethro jumped a mile and lost his breath, practically falling back into her.

"Damn, Jen," he barked, clearly caught off guard.

She giggled into the back of his shoulder and let her hand travel over his inseam again, smacking him on the butt playfully. He turned his head and gave her a glare over his shoulder, his blue eyes smoldering.

"That's harassment," he muttered, resuming his light stringing loftily. Jenny started to massage his shoulders, snuggling up to his back while he worked on the tree.

"I don't think its harassment if you like it, Jethro," she mused innocently, kissing him through his old t-shirt.

"This is red light behavior, Jen," he informed her seriously, as Jenny rubbed her sock-clad foot over his calf, pressing her head into the hard muscles of his back. She peeked over his shoulder and watched him string lights lazily, smiling into his t-shirt.

"That mean you want me to stop?" she murmured curiously, pressing her knee into the back of his thigh.

Jethro gave a non-committal grunt and she pressed closer to him, still kneading his shoulders expertly while he worked. This way she got away with making him do the hard part of decorating under the pretense of making him feel good. His shoulders were stiff; he'd put a lot of strain on himself trying not to use his abdominal muscles.

She was suspicious about just how much he'd hurt himself lugging a Christmas tree up the stairs, but she'd let it go. He had been _nice_ the past few days. She wasn't about to break that shocking streak.

Jenny kissed Jethro's shoulder again and let her palms slide down his back, cotton material slipping through her fingers. She gathered the prickly garland into her arms and got on her knees next to the tree, beginning to wrap it around the bottom most branches.

Jethro picked up a few candy canes and started hanging them on the tree, rolling his head back and forth. Jenny paused for a moment to watch as she moved up tree branches, narrowing her eyes at the way he turned his shoulders in, straining to reach because it hurt. She pressed her lips together and bit back a rebuke. It wasn't worth it. Not on Christmas Eve.

She stood up on her tip toes to wrap the last bit of garland, resorting to almost throwing it around the tree. She smiled triumphantly at her fluke of success and stepped back, admiring the tree. Jethro placed another candy cane higher up and she reached up and caught his arm when he brought it back down, slipping in front of him. He lifted an eyebrow at her in mild amusement and she framed his face with both hands, kissing him slowly.

He placed his hands on her waist gently.

"There needs to be something on top," Jenny murmured, placing her palms on his chest and tilting her head up at him. She glanced over her shoulder briefly to the top of the towering tree.

"You?" Jethro suggested smartly, smirking.

Jenny laughed, aware she'd set herself up for that one. She lifted a brow at him and chewed on her bottom lip thoughtfully, twisting a little in his grasp.

"Star?" he grunted.

"Too common," Jenny denied, shaking her head.

"Elf hat?" suggested Jethro, flicking the top of hers. Jenny swatted his hand away and fixed the hat primly, glaring at him teasingly. Jenny frowned slightly and then her eyes lit up. She escaped from Jethro's arms and her eyes sparkled mischievously as she disappeared down the stairs, her bare feet smacking against the stone.

Jethro looked back at the tree, proud of the decorations. Jenny hadn't said anything about celebrating or decorations. She had seemed to be a little shy of Christmas, even avoidant of it. He knew how that felt. He didn't know why the holiday seemed to upset her, but he was acutely aware of why Christmas hurt for him, and he'd decided to attempt to make it happy this year, in light of the fact that he was happier than he had been in a while.

Jenny's footsteps sounded closer and he was broken from his dimmer thoughts, turning to catch her entering the room with a wicked smirk on her lips and an elegant, deep red high-heel looped around her pointer finger.

"Really, Jen?" he asked skeptically, rolling his eyes.

She pouted her lips and held up her beloved shoe to the garland, showing him it matched fairly well.

"We need a tree-topper, Jethro," she insisted, holding up the heel between them as she stepped closer.

"A _shoe_?"

"This isn't just a _shoe_. It's a 1996 Jimmy Choo Elegance Collection."

Jethro cocked an eyebrow.

"Let's see you get it up there," he challenged smartly, fully aware Jenny wasn't tall enough to reach the top of an eight-foot tree. She frowned a little and looked up the tree; completely convinced her crimson heel would look lovely atop the green tree strung with candy canes and red garland.

"Get on one knee," she murmured, looking back at him imperiously.

"Last time I did that I ended up with an alimony check," he retorted, obeying her commend.

Jenny snorted and rested her hand on his shoulder, lifting her foot to brace it on his knee. She took a moment to consider the many ways this could turn out horrifically wrong, for her and him, but her main concern was preventing further injury to his bullet wound, so she wouldn't ask him to lift her up. She frowned a little; aware Jethro's wandering eyes were glued to the leg she was parading right in front of his face.

"Don't let me fall," she told him, using her other leg to push herself up on his knee precariously so she could reach the top. She felt him quickly rap a hand around her ankle, his knee wobbling, and she squeaked as she almost fell, her heart rate speeding up. Jenny managed to loop the ribbon of her heel around the very top of the tree before she lost her footing and her balance.

Jethro lunged to the side to try and break her fall with his arm, and successfully prevented her head from cracking on the floor, but ultimately they both ended up sprawled under the tree, her legs tangled in his and her knee precariously close to his groin.

Jenny gasped; her breath knocked out of her from hitting the ground so hard, and attempted to smack Jethro in the shoulder as hard as possible.

"I said _don't_ let me fall!" she managed hoarsely, still trying to breathe.

"I don't think you're aware of how good your ass looks in those jeans," he responded in a mutter, and received another whack to his head.

Jenny lay back on the floor and giggled, staring up at the pine needles in front of her face. She carefully moved her knee away from Jethro and pushed his legs off of hers, rolling onto her stomach. She blew hair out of her face and supported her upper body on her arms, looking at him in amusement. He lay half on his side, apparently just as content as her to stay sprawled on the floor.

Jenny reached out for the cardboard box of candy canes and pulled it towards her, plucking one casually out of the box. Jethro watched her lethargically. Jenny broke off the curved part and set it aside, picking at the plastic on the other part.

"Any other decorations you want?' Jethro asked, propping his head up on his palm and reaching out with one hand to trace her spine through the button down she was wearing. Jenny rid her candy cane of the plastic and set it aside, looking around the room.

Her eyes alit on the dusty, old fireplace in the corner and she cut her eyes at him through her lashes, crossing her ankles in the air.

"Stockings," she suggested sweetly, biting the edge of the candy cane.

Jethro slipped a hand under her, his hand snaking up to undo the top button of her shirt. She raised an eyebrow at him and he undid the next one, moving slowly with one hand as he watched her.

"Stockings," he repeated gruffly.

Jenny nodded slowly. He slipped his hand inside her shirt, abandoning the buttons, and let his fingers explore the delicate lace of her bra, watching her bite her lip as she paused with the candy cane inches from her mouth.

"You have stockings, Jen?" Jethro asked, his brow going up in interest.

"Or something like them," she murmured, biting down on the candy cane again and crunching the piece between her teeth. The strong mint stung her eyes and she blinked, trying to keep her composure. His hand was warm against her skin…

"You're supposed to suck on those," Jethro said hoarsely, his mouth close to hear ear suddenly, and she smirked deviously, lifting a perfect eyebrow at him suggestively. There were so many things she could say in response, but she chose silence, often a much more powerful weapon with him. Left to imagine what was going through her head and he ended up more than turned on.

He pressed his head into her shoulder and groaned in frustration, perhaps lamenting the trouble he'd been having lately. Jenny pursed her lips in pity and nudged his head with her lips, shifting so she was on her side. She placed her palm on his chest gently and pushed, forcing him onto his back.

Languidly, she settled herself on his hips, her knees planted on either side of his thighs. Jethro unfastened the last two buttons of her shirt and pushed it off her shoulders; Jenny helped him rid her of it with a few shrugs. He took her candy cane from her. She ran her hands over his chest slowly, feeling his muscles beneath his shirt, and leaned forward to kiss his throat, letting him wrap his arms around her and pull her close.

"Do not get that candy cane on this lace," she warned dangerously, teeth grazing his collar bone.

She pulled back, sitting up, and taking it from him as if she didn't trust him. He pulled his legs up behind her and she leaned back against his knees, biting off the next bit of candy cane again and looking down at him. He ran his hands over her stomach and below her navel, just causing enough friction to tease.

"_Jen_," he whined huskily, his eyes on her mouth. She cocked an eyebrow lasciviously. "God."

Jenny licked her lips slowly and let her hands drift down, ghosting over her own bra and stomach before she rested them at his button, her thumb running over it in mock hesitation. Her lips had a just-bitten tint of red to them now, and he was finding it hard to think. The rush of blood to his groin made his injury throb.

Jenny loosened his button, tilting her head alluringly. She leaned back into his knees so he relaxed and shifted back, pulling his zipper down and shimmying his jeans and boxers down over his hips just enough. Her touch was light and warm as she crawled back up his body, her nose close to his. He reached up between them to cup a breast and she angled her head to kiss him slowly.

"How long this time?" she asked in a sultry tease, her eyes sparkling wickedly.

He suppressed a shiver at the throaty sound of her voice and his eyes flashed with the challenge, his hand slipping further between them to oblige her in unbuttoning her own jeans. She moaned quietly as his hand dipped under her thin excuse for panties.

Her eyes fluttered, and when she focused on him again, the bridge of her nose was flushed pink, her green orbs were bright with desire and arousal. He smirked arrogantly. She'd figured out her benign mocking of his performance could benefit her infinitely, and he didn't mind the subtle jabs; he knew his game was off since he'd been shot.

If she was satisfied when it was over, no matter how fast, he was satisfied.

Jenny pressed her forehead into his, one of her hands threading into his short hair. She whimpered softly, capturing his lips in swift, wet kisses. Jen gripped his shoulder tightly and clenched her teeth; he felt her muscles tightening around his fingers.

She gasped when he drew his hand back, depriving her of his warmth, and tugged on her jeans gently. With enough maneuvering he had them off and under the tree with her panties. She bit her lip when he slipped into her and tilted her head back.

Stone floor made for an uncomfortable bed; Jenny made sure he didn't get too rough. She pushed his shoulder back against the floor with one hand, pressing kisses to his chest as she ground her hips into his. Jethro thrust against her, holding her arm and groaning her name. Jenny gasped and shuddered, sinking her teeth into his shoulder to make for a quieter yell, and he pressed a hand against her hip, pushing her down onto him. He hit the edge fast, with her, and hit his head a little hard for comfort on the floor when he relaxed, Jenny collapsed heavily on top of him.

He closed his eyes and licked his lips, breathing heavily, listening to the quiet, labored breathing of the woman on top of him. Soothingly, he stroked her back, running his finger under the straps of her lace bra. Jenny shifted her head and rested it on his shoulder.

"_Mmmm_," she murmured, content. She lifted her head and kissed him slowly, her tongue running along his bottom lip. He saw the smirk in her eyes before it expressed itself in her words. "Not bad," she allowed, her fingers running through his hair. "Longer than three minutes," she informed him cattily, kissing him again.

He was tempted to throw her off of him, but he knew it would hurt her. He settled for pinching her ribs like he usually did, a bit harder this time. She smiled, and laughed against his mouth.

"I like you like this, Jethro," she whispered, shrugging her fair shoulders gracefully, "You're so concerned about getting me off…" she trailed off a little, her eyelashes fluttering, "The foreplay is amazing," she murmured, her lips brushing his neck again.

Under any other circumstance, he'd already have her on her back. It frustrated him that he needed a break.

Jenny sighed and moved off of him, resting her hand on his jeans as she settled next to him, tracing patterns on his chest. His shirt was damp in places from the marks her lips had left, but she hadn't been bothered with taking it off.

"I'm fairly sure we're on the naughty list," Jenny mused quietly, and Jethro laughed, the sound of it rumbling through his chest good-naturedly.

He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, turning his head so his mouth was buried in her hair. He breathed in the intoxicating scent of her and closed his eyes, savoring the moment, before he kissed her and murmured:

"About those stockings…"

Jenny smirked lazily and rolled in his grip, returning to her stomach. She dipped her head at him, and all of her red hair cascaded over one shoulder as she looked at him, eyebrow cocked.

"I can put them on now, but you'd have to wait until tomorrow morning to touch what's inside them," she chided solemnly. Jethro smirked. He hoped to god they were talking about her legs.

Jenny smiled and propped her head up on her palm. She reached down for the hem of his shirt and yanked it up, her hand running over the bandage still secured over his waist. He flinched at her touch, no matter how gentle, and she caressed the sensitive, healing skin softly, her fingers peeling the gauze away slowly.

Chills ran up Jethro's spine as the cool air hit the now open wound and he cleared his throat, closing his eyes as her smooth skin brushed against the angry torn bullet hole. His skin was starting to heal, though admittedly not as fast as it could if he'd just take it easy. Jenny's touch was light and he relished it, it soothed the itch that had bothered him under the bandage without causing him to bleed again.

"Jethro," Jenny murmured, her lips barely moving. She looked down at him with a blithe smile, her body relaxed.

"Hmm?" he mumbled, his eyes closed.

"I want Christmas cookies," she began mildly, her hand methodically and lightly massaging his side. He wasn't opposed to the idea, but he kept quiet, waiting for her to finish. "I'm going to put my stockings on," she drawled lazily, prompting to open one eye with interest, "and bake some…"

His eyes flew open. He was looking at her in apprehensive horror.

Jenny laughed, realizing he was thinking back to her disastrous attempt at cooking in Paris.

"I can bake cookies," she placated, rolling her eyes.

She received a skeptical glare.

"I promise," she soothed, leaning down to kiss him, "Nothing will catch fire, burn, and or explode."

She sat up, reaching for her discarded button down shirt and sliding it on quickly. She buttoned two or three buttons and gathered up her jeans and panties, glancing at him. He was looking at her distrustfully. She smiled in amusement and nudged his butt with her foot, standing up and stepping into her panties before she left the room, traipsing down the stairs half dressed.

They may have taken to sleeping up here, but everything was still inconveniently located downstairs.

Jethro flopped over carefully onto his stomach to watch her leave, eyeing her six appreciatively. He remained on the floor for a short moment and then jerked his jeans back over his hips, buttoning them as he stood up.

Jethro lingered, looking at the tree, giving the high-heeled shoe posing as tree-topping star an indulgent look. It had been a while since he'd felt this content with things on Christmas Eve—the last few had inevitably been spent either suffering through a wife's stifling party or alone in his basement with a bottle of bourbon and worn pictures of Shannon and Kelly.

The first without them had been the worst, one of the darkest days of his life. He'd been up the entire night with red eyes, unable to think of anything but the knowledge that Kelly wasn't going to come running into the room to wake him up for presents this year; she wasn't going to pounce on Shannon because neither of them were there anymore.

Jethro rubbed his hands furiously over his face and swallowed hard, forcing the thoughts from his mind. He left the bedroom, determined not to think about them for once, seeking Jenny. She'd take his mind off of it.

Halfway down the stairs he heard a large crash, and took the rest of them at a run, not sure he wanted to know what he would find in the kitchen.

He stormed in, and his Jenny burst out laughing. He narrowed his eyes at her and the metal bowl on the floor, reluctant to ask what had happened. He didn't have to; Jenny was quick to inform him.

"I just wanted to see how bad you'd freak out if I made a noise," she giggled smartly, reaching to pick up the bowl. "You got in here pretty fast," she said, setting it on the counter, "I feel so safe."

He scowled at her and crossed the kitchen, leaning against the counter next to her and surveying the array of cookie baking items that she'd scattered all over the counter.

"There's a fire extinguisher in here, right?" he asked, deadpan.

Jenny pushed his shoulder. He grinned.

Jenny tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and stepped back, frowning attractively and biting her lip as she took inventory of her supplies. Jethro let his eyes wander a little, suddenly realizing she had in fact changed.

His eyes traveled up her legs, now seductively clad in delicate white net stockings that ended high on her thighs. She wore a short-sleeved, onyx black silk rob that hit her right where the stockings ended, shielding anything private from view but leaving oh-so-much to the imagination. He'd seen the robe before, but not the stockings.

"Jethro," murmured Jenny primly, her eye catching his and informing him she knew exactly what had him so speechless.

His only response was a distracted grunt, though he did manage to look at her.

He snaked a hand around her waist and pulled her towards him, getting a mischievous look in his eyes. Jenny grabbed his hands and removed them from her, patting them patronizingly and stepping back slowly.

She sauntered across the kitchen to the cupboard, looking for something else. Jethro leaned against the counter behind him, gripping it with his hands lightly, watching her. She stretched up on her tip toes a little to reach something, the edge of the robe riding up on her legs so he caught just a teasing glimpse of the lingerie underneath.

Red.

He was instantly reminded of candy canes.

"Jethro," she murmured, "Can you…" she trailed off, unwilling to outright ask for help, glancing over her shoulder. He strode up behind her and easily lifted down the mixing bowl she was reaching for, handing it to her with a flourish. Jenny pecked him on the cheek and returned to the counter.

Jethro followed her slowly, leaning against the counter again to watch her work. Jenny started with the first ingredients and Jethro watched silently.

"Small talk is acceptable," murmured Jenny, her eyebrow going up a little as she eyeballed the amount of flour in her measuring cup.

"What makes you think you won't set the cookies on fire?" Jethro retaliated smartly. Jenny was quiet, shaking her head in exasperation as she checked her measurements, before she shrugged and answered:

"I used to bake Christmas cookies every Christmas eve," she offered lightly. She went one, a little nostalgically: "Sort of a tradition." Jenny almost mumbled the last part.

He nodded, though he wasn't sure if she saw. He didn't ask any questions about it or push her, it didn't sound like something she wanted to talk about. He knew Jenny; what she was willing to give was what he got, and if she hadn't offered anything else he wouldn't get it by poking at her about it. She was like him. Jenny didn't shut down completely like he did though; she would rebuff him, and if felt cornered, would fight back.

Jethro hated small talk for this reason. There was no such thing as just small talk.

He was content to just watch her.

He liked the way Jenny moved. It wasn't just when she was walking away from him, either; it was the grace and confidence of everything she did. He'd never seen Jenny trip or fall, come to think of it, unless someone had deliberately taken her down. She wasn't clumsy, and she had certain strength in her that he could see just watching her. Not to mention she was mind-numbingly beautiful, even in the less-than-flattering states he'd witnessed, such as covered in blood or sick with the flu.

"If you take a picture," she teased quietly, stirring ingredients methodically, "It will last longer." She smirked at him sideways, with the tip of her tongue caught between her teeth.

"You plannin' on going somewhere?" he asked, mock-glaring at her. She grinned and turned back to her cookie baking, adding eggs and examining the concoction.

"Do you have Christmas traditions, Jethro?" she asked playfully, measuring out something else. "You string lights on the boat and sit around drinking bourbon?" she teased.

She didn't look over at him right away, so she didn't see the quick flash of pain in his eyes. She was picking up the electric mixer as he forced the emotion away, irked by how close her quip was to how his Christmases were spent.

"Santa," he grunted sarcastically, when her eyes met his and she held up the mixer over the bowl.

Jenny rolled her eyes with a small smile.

"You don't want to talk," she murmured, flicking the switch on the mixer and filling the kitchen with electronic buzzing.

She inserted the mixer into her cookie dough and fell silent, finding it useless to speak over the noise and not at all shocked that Jethro was being a less than enthusiastic participant in conversation. It didn't bother her like it might some that he didn't like to talk about things; it meant she didn't have to talk either, if she didn't want to.

She used to bake Christmas cookies with her father on Christmas Eve. Her mother sat around and drank more often than not, but she and the Colonel has looked forward to making a huge mess in the name of Santa's cookies every year. She hadn't done it the Christmas after he'd died; she'd sat in the kitchen floor with a drink and cried her eyes out. She didn't think she'd ever do it again.

She kept getting this feeling that her father would like Jethro. That feeling made her want to pick up the tradition again—one she never should have dropped anyway, if she really wanted to make her father happy. She felt like she had a little more to celebrate this year.

Smiling, though a little nostalgically, Jenny flicked the mixer off and inspected the cookie dough to see if it was the right consistency. She stuck her finger in it and lifted an eyebrow, leaning her hip against the counter as she turned to Jethro.

He was looking at her almost expressionlessly, his eyes guarded.

"Jethro," she murmured softly, and he _really_ looked at her. "Are you okay?" she asked, her brow furrowing a little.

"Fine," he grunted hoarsely. She bit the inside of her lip so as not to ask a question. Anyone not accustomed to his moods would be oblivious to something wrong, but to her he was upset. She knew he was upset.

She presented him her fingertip sample of cookie dough with an expectant clearing of her throat.

Jethro took her wrist and ran his thumb over the pulse point, tugging her a little closer. He smirked at her and accepted her invitation to taste the cookie dough off of her finger. She giggled and tried to take her hand back; he clamped his teeth gently down on her finger. Jenny placed her hand against his chest and pushed, pulling her index finger insistently. He relented and she dried her finger off in mock disdain on his shirt; Jethro knocked her hand on his chest out of the way and stepped forward to close the distance between them, pressing a short kiss to her mouth.

"Good," he mumbled.

Jenny smiled and pushed him away, picking up her bowl deftly and striding over to the table with it.

"I need the metal cookie sheets," she said, glancing over her shoulder. Obediently, Jethro brought them over to her, and watched as she started to pluck off bits of the malleable cookie dough and roll them into small rounds.

Jethro cocked his head at her with interest.

"Shouldn't you make little cutesy shapes?" he asked gruffly, as she placed her third round preliminary cookie onto the cookie sheet.

"There aren't any cookie cutters, smart ass," she responded, giving him a look. She was slightly offended he decided to find something wrong with her cookies.

Jethro reached across her and took some cookie dough from the bowl, playing around with it while he watched her. Jenny looked at him covertly while she worked, suspicious of what he was doing.

"Here's an idea," she offered sarcastically, "You could make a boat!"

Jethro scowled at her and she laughed, pleased with her joke. He started working the dough in his hands in determination and she peeked at him out of the corner of her eye, unsure of what he was doing. She was about to place the last round on cookie sheet number one when he immaturely pushed her hand out of the way and placed his cookie dough in the last spot.

Jenny lifted her eyebrow as she found herself looking at a lopsided heart-shaped cookie.

She burst into laughter, more touched by the gesture than she let on. Jethro looked relatively proud of himself, and crossed his arms across his chest. Jenny moved the first cookie tray and pulled another one towards her, swiftly transferring the bowl of cookie dough to the place between herself and Jethro.

He joined her in making cookies after a few moments, apparently overcoming a manly inward struggle, and doggedly pursued making 'interesting' cookies in the form of squares, triangles, and just odd shapes.

They were all amusing, but the heart was hear favorite.

She was concentrating on attempting to mold a star out of her round of cookie dough when something sticky pressed into her cheek and she flinched away, her eyes widening in surprise. Jethro smirked at her as she smacked his hand away, brushing cookie dough off of her face in outrage.

"JETHRO!" she shouted.

He laughed and attempted to stick more dough on her; she narrowly avoided getting it in on her nose and, to her utter dismay, ended up with it in her hair as she jerked out of the way. The look on his face when he heard her gasp of horror was priceless.

She turned on him, her eyes narrowing.

"Ooops," he muttered, tearing his eyes away from the sugar cookie dough matted in her loose hair now.

"You're dead," she threatened, advancing towards him.

He backed up a little, wary of the glint in her eyes. She crept closer.

"You think that bullet hurt?" she asked ominously, her meaning clear. The backs of his knees hit a kitchen chair and he paused, reluctant to fall backwards over it. He contemplated other escape routes.

Jenny darted her hand into the bowl of cookie dough and chucked a handful of it at him. He put up his hands protectively and ducked down, successfully avoiding the cookie dough. He didn't quite avoid the subsequent chunk she threw, considering it came right after the first.

Jenny laughed triumphantly as he straightened up, glaring at her as he reached up to gingerly touch the cookie dough in his own hair. His eyes fell to the bowl of cookie dough. Jenny narrowed her eyes and moved towards it at the same time as he did, yanking it towards her off the table as he managed to grab hold of it. Jenny shrieked as Jethro stumbled forward, bracing herself in case he fell on her, but he caught his balance and grabbed her shoulder to steady himself.

She smirked.

She reached into the bowl and he followed suit, scuffling with her over it to determine who would get hit with cookie dough next. Jenny managed to scrape a handful and released her hold on the bowl at the same moment Jethro did, resulting in it falling with a _crash_ to the floor and hitting her foot painfully.

She squealed and leapt back, picking up her foot, and Jethro struck a low blow, tossing his handful of cookie dough at her and landing it square at her shoulder.

"Bastard," she muttered, directing her aim right at his groin.

"Jen!" he growled, failing in his attempt to block her throw and glaring as she burst into taunting laughter across from him.

He thrust his foot out to drag the bowl towards him but Jenny blocked his foot with hers, scuffling with him again to kick it out of the way. He grabbed her arm and spun her around, wrapping an arm around her waist to hold her back. His fingers brushed her ribs lightly, tickling her, and she squealed, laughing breathlessly and squirming to get away.

Jethro kicked the bowl violently across the room, still trying to restrain a fighting Jenny, and smiled into her hair, content with her struggling.

"I win," he growled in her ear.

Still laughing and short of breath, she furiously shook her head. Smirking, Jethro reached around to yank the bow tying her robe closed undone and watch the silky fabric loosen. Jenny gasped and reached around behind her to pinch him. Jethro spun her around in his grasp and caught her eye, bursting into laughter when he got a good look at her.

She pushed him away, trying to look angry through a badly suppressed smile, and rounded on him, the strings of the robe's tie coming completely loose and slowly falling away. Jethro lost his breath a little as his lower back hit kitchen counter and Jenny glared at him, the cookie dough sticking in her bangs and the hair next to her face making her much less than scary.

He smirked at her arrogantly and she pounced, hitting him viciously in the shoulder. He held her back while she tried to attack his ribs, loathe for her to find out he was ticklish. Jenny huffed at him and as he fought back.

"You're supposed to let me win!"

"Because you're a girl?"

"Because you won't get laid ever again if I don't get to hit you!" she shouted.

He immediately took his hands off of her and she slammed her fist into his chest, knocking the wind out of him. He sucked in sharply and glowered at her, unprepared for such a hard blow. She started to step back, a prim, evil look in her eyes, but he slung his arm around her waist and held her, looking at her intently while he caught his breath again.

It was hard to do, looking at her.

Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes sparkling, and he had a satisfying view of what was under the black silk robe. The lacy bra and underwear set was almost transparent, delicately thin, and a light, candy-like red with strategically placed white-and red striped bows. She looked damn good.

With his free hand, he shoved the black silk off her shoulders and let it pool on the floor. She twitched her head at him, a little reprimanding, but smiled.

"I said no touching until Christmas morning," she informed him, one stocking-covered leg rubbing against his through his jeans.

"Naughty list," he reminded her in a mutter, pulling her closer with his hands lightly at her waist.

Jenny smiled and let him press a kiss to her collarbone, his lips brushing the tiny bow on one of her bra straps.

The oven made a long beeping sound, signaling it was heated and ready.

"Cookies," she informed him, squeezing his shoulder. He ignored her and nudged her bra strap down a little, kissing the place where it had been. She squirmed against him a little and tilted her head back, meeting his eye and pouting a little.

"Jethro," she whined, "they need to be baked!'

He groaned dramatically and moved her out of his way, stomping over to the finished cookie tray and made a show of taking it over to the oven and putting the cookies in as if it were the most torturous thing in the world. He slammed the oven door shut and began approaching Jenny, glaring at her as she giggled and backed away from him. She started like she was going to try to run away, but her reached out, caught her around the waist, and pushed her back into the counter, eliciting a small squeak.

"Happy?" he asked, arching an eyebrow.

She nodded, a smile playing on her lips. He kissed her smile, cupping her cheek in his palm and tangling the tips of his fingers in her hair. Bracing his abdominal muscles for the strain, he lifted her up quickly and placed her on the counter, smirking as she gasped when the cool surface hit her legs through the stockings.

He ran his hand over the fishnet fabric of the stockings, mesmerized by how good her legs looked in them. He touched the little bow at the top, smirking, and caressed the inside of her thigh. Jenny leaned her forehead into his and took a deep breath, finally calming herself down a little. She reached out and touched his cheek softly.

"You're sticky," she mumbled, her fingers touching his hair gingerly.

He smirked and kissed the corner of her mouth, tracing the letters of his name on her thigh.

"We need a shower," she murmured, kissing him, mostly catching his bottom lip between hers playfully. He grinned, hands travelling up her sides lightly to her breasts. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close to him.

"Don't want the cookies to burn."

"Hmm-mmm," she muttered, agreeing. He dipped his head to kiss her below the ear and threaded his fingers into her hair, tilting her head back just a little.

"Timer's set for ten minutes," he informed her huskily, brushing his lips against her neck seductively. She sighed and wrapped one long leg around his waist, her hand falling to his belt teasingly.

"I've noticed you don't hurt as much when you're standing up," she murmured in a silky voice, her fingers dipping below his waistband. She let the suggestion and the innuendo sink and ran her finger down his cheek. She glanced up at him through her eyelashes, setting his pulse racing, and bit her lip, blatantly sexy.

Between them, he let his hand drift up her thigh again, seeking her warmth. Jenny fluttered her eyelashes and caught her breath. She smiled softly. Wickedly.

"I want you to make love to me," she said huskily in his hear, her lips touching him, "on this counter," she kissed his ear, traced the curves of it with her tongue tantalizingly, "You have until that timer goes off," her voice lowered, seductive, dripping with lust, "to make _me_ go off."

He groaned, nipping at her collarbone with his teeth.

In the time it took for Jenny to start moaning his name, he concluded he preferred the naughty list—hands down.

* * *

Jenny mounted the stone stairs slowly, two mugs and a few warm cookies in her hands. She paused in the entrance way of the bedroom, admiring the glow of the Christmas tree, and taking a moment to quietly observe Jethro as he stoked the fire he'd started in the hearth. He glared at it for a moment and then sat down on the couch, lounging back with his arm slung across the back.

Jenny smiled softly and pushed off the wall, her feet making a soft thump against the floor through her socks as she crossed it.

Jethro looked up at her blithely, reaching out to take his mug from her as she offered it to him.

"Yours is coffee," she soothed quietly, when he gave the liquid a wary look. Jenny nudged his knee with her leg to urge him to give her room and smirked a little as she sat down on the edge of the couch. "Spiked with a little bourbon," she added knowingly.

Jethro smiled at her and leaned back. Jenny snuggled up to his side, resting her mug of hot chocolate on his thigh and leaning her head against his shoulder. She handed him a cookie and munched happily on her own, pleased with how the few cookies that had managed to be baked ended up.

"A _little_ bourbon?" she heard him mutter gruffly, and smiled, tilting her head back to look up at him.

"It's Christmas," she justified. He smiled at her and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, rubbing his hand up and down her arm absently.

Jenny smiled and relaxed into him, watching the flames in the fire flicker. It crackled and popped softly, giving off a soothing heat that made her a sleepy and was incredibly comfortable. She and Jethro had shared a long, hot shower, and she was now clad in comfortable cotton track pants, a light sweater, and her favorite fluffy socks. Jethro had opted for sweatpants and one of the old t-shirts he loved so much.

She was so warm cuddled up to Jethro with the fire. She found it odd that she felt so at home in a foreign country on Christmas, but she'd realized that lately when thinking of home, she'd unconsciously connected it with Jethro. She laid her head against Jethro's chest and took a sip of her hot chocolate, letting her eyes drift closed as drowsiness pulled at her.

Jethro drew his fingers up and down her arm, listening to her breathe, feeling the movement of her throat as she swallowed her hot chocolate. He took a drink of his spiked coffee, mentally thanking the Gods for Jenny, and glad for the alcohol.

Jenny had eased the pain of the holidays more than he would have thought possible; she'd been a welcome distraction, yet it was hard for him not to think of Shannon and Kelly. Every little thing reminded him of them during the Christmas season; it was ten times worse than any normal day because there were so many more memories.

He stared determinedly at the fire, his mouth getting dry and his throat closing up. He cleared it gruffly and took another drink of the coffee, trying to ignore the pricking sting in his eyes. He missed them.

Jethro squeezed Jenny's shoulder gently, pulling her a little closer, and turned his head, burying his face in her hair. He felt her shift in concern and breathed in her scent, comforting himself in her. He moved his head and rested his cheek on the crown of her head, swallowing hard.

"Jen," he murmured, and he thought he sounded more upset than he meant to, judging by her quick, gentle response.

"What is it, Jethro?"

He stared hard into the fire. He realized he was on the verge of telling her about Shannon, and about Kelly. He didn't understand why; he'd never wanted to tell the others about them because they had been his, memories he wanted untarnished by women who would only try and fail to take their place. He didn't know what to say, he didn't know how to start, but he almost told her in that moment.

And, when he thought about it later, he couldn't quite pinpoint what had held him back. Perhaps it was because he thought telling Jenny about them would mean letting go. He couldn't. He couldn't let them go.

Jethro let out a breath and kissed her hair, shaking his head a little. He took a drink of his coffee, concentrating on the sharp sting of the alcohol. Jenny reached over and rested her hand on his thigh, caressing gently.

"Something is bothering you," she stated quietly, but it wasn't a question. He shook his head again, making sure she felt it, and let his arm fall to her waist, taking another long drink before he set his mug on the floor and turned, stretching out on the couch.

Jenny, her brow furrowed a little as she looked at him, shifted to readjust to his position and curled up to his side again, her legs tangled in his in the scant space on the couch. Jenny leaned over to place her mug on the floor next to his and pulled his arm around her, lacing her fingers through his.

Jethro tilted his head back against the arm rest of the couch, staring up at the ceiling as he methodically combed his fingers through Jenny's hair. He wondered how she would react if she knew. He wondered why he couldn't tell her.

"You ever lost someone you loved more than anything, Jen?" he asked hoarsely, before he realized he was saying it.

He didn't think he'd ever heard her fall so silent. Not even in anger.

"Yes," she answered softly. Her voice shook slightly and he knew she was biting her lip.

He couldn't find the right way to say anymore. He just nodded. Jenny had a way of understanding.

She put her hand on his chest, right over his heart, and pressed her fingertips into his skin through his shirt, probably confused.

Jenny knew he was upset, hurting even, and she wanted to know what was wrong, but she didn't dare ask. He was expressing more emotion right now—probably more than he realized—than he had in her experience with him, and he was drawing it out of her, too.

He'd made her think of her father, and she hadn't all day. It constricted her breath momentarily and she turned her head into Jethro's shirt. She didn't think it fair to cry. She took a deep breath and blinked a few times, closing her eyes.

Jethro wrapped his arm around her tightly.

He didn't know what it was that made her hurt on Christmas, or who she'd lost, but he hadn't meant to bring it to her mind.

He lay there with her for a while, he wasn't sure quite how long, until the fire had subsided a little and the chilly air was starting to pervade the room. Jenny's soft, even breathing told him she was asleep; her hand was curled loosely in his shirt, bunching up the material.

Careful not to wake her, Jethro extricated himself from their tangle and stretched, rolling his neck from side to side and yawning tiredly. He crouched in front of the fire and coaxed it to burn brightly again, reluctant to let Jenny wake up freezing in the early morning. He stood up and looked at Jenny for a minute in the dim light, watching her sleep.

Rubbing his shoulder, he approached the couch and went to pick her up; ignoring the fact that he probably shouldn't put that much strain on his injury. She whimpered in her sleep when he picked her up, wincing at the throbbing that started in his side, and carried her to the bed.

He put her down amidst the covers and she rolled over to her stomach, shifting restlessly.

"Put me down," she muttered. He smiled, pulling the covers back and then over her as he crawled in next to her, wrapping his arm around her waist again. He checked the clock Jenny had insisted be brought up to this room and noted the time, settling down close to Jenny again.

"Merry Christmas, Jen," he mumbled, kissing her behind the ear. Jenny mumbled contentedly and rolled onto her back, her head falling towards him. He put his forehead against her temple and fell asleep.

* * *

Jenny was jolted awake Christmas morning as chilly air hit her body. She curled up and turned her face into the pillows, whining, and peeked one eye open. She rolled over, reaching out for the covers lazily, and Jethro pounced on her, his hands reaching for her ribs.

She squealed as she pulled her towards him playfully and started to tickle her, hovering over her on his hands and knees.

"Jen," he drawled, pressing a kiss to her jaw and blowing lightly in her ear. She struggled to get away from him, her laughter muffled in the pillows. "Wake up," he coaxed, giving her no mercy in his tickling.

She rolled onto her back and put her knee up, trying to shove him back, but he just moved it out of the way, grinning arrogantly. Jenny shrieked and kicked with her other foot, hitting his knee. She sat up and scrambled backwards, managing to escape from his hands.

She gave him a half-hearted glare and tossed her hair back out of her face, leaning back against the headboard with bright eyes.

"Morning," he greeted, smirking.

He ran his index finger down the sensitive arch of her foot and she curled it with a shiver, squealing in protest.

"Morning," she breathed, a small smile gracing her features. She blinked a little in the surprisingly bright sunlight. He gave her a look and got off the bed, disappearing into the little alcove off of the room, near the Christmas tree.

Jenny crawled forward, looking after him curiously, and swung her legs off the bed, standing up with a yawn and crossing her arms. Jethro reappeared with a white box and she lifted an eyebrow as she met his eyes, impressed with the neatly tied gold bow on it. He held it out to her and she smiled a little as she approached and took it, turning and setting the box on the bed to open it carefully.

She felt him watching her as she removed the bow and lifted the top off of the box, gingerly pushing aside the tissue paper inside. Her eyes widened slightly when she felt the soft, pliable leather against her hand and she lifted the creamy, off-white coat out of its box, her heart skipping a few beats as she looked at it.

She let it fall slowly back in the box and turned, almost running into Jethro, unaware he'd approached her so closely. She smiled and wrapped her arms around him in a hug; he laughed and hugged back with one arm, kissing her forehead.

"It's beautiful," she said, her eyes settling on his admiringly. She touched his cheek and twisted a little, touching the leather again, completely in love with it. She was amazed Jethro had picked out something so unbelievable gorgeous. Not to mention practical.

"You gonna try it on?" he asked gruffly, as if it wasn't _that_ big of a deal that he'd bought her a patented leather Italian coat.

She bit her lip in excitement and picked up the coat reverently, holding it up and watching the material unfold gracefully. She undid two of the fastened buttons carefully and opened the coat, slipping it on easily. She was amazed at how snugly it fit and how comfortable it was instantly. She touched the collar and the smooth buttons, glancing up at him through her eyelashes.

He looked much too proud of himself.

"Jethro," she started hesitantly, unsure how to tell him how well he'd done. He shook his head, mock stern, and pointed to her hip. Brow furrowing in amusement, she looked down.

"Pocket," he grunted. Pursing her lips, intrigued, Jenny slipped her small hand into the pocket and paused when her fingers brushed an object inside. She lost her breath a little as she pulled the white felt box out of the pocket, holding it a little warily, her eyes wide.

Jethro smirked at the curious look on her face.

"It's not a ring," he assured her, teasing. Jenny laughed, her stance relaxing a little, and looked at the box in her palm for a moment before she glanced at him and reached to open it. She lifted the top of the box open and smiled softly at the jewelry inside.

The earrings were simple, stunning, Princess cut diamonds, sparkling iridescently amidst the white bed of the jewelry box. Jenny touched one of the diamonds gently, looking up at Jethro with a warm smile.

"Merry Christmas," he said solemnly, but she could see the amusement in his blue eyes. She bit her lip and laughed, admiring the earrings again before she gently closed the box and held it to her, stepping up to him to kiss the corner of his mouth.

"You…" she murmured, catching his eye again. "Thank you," she said sincerely, clutching the jewelry box. He grinned triumphantly and she kissed him good and hard this time, slipping the diamond earrings back into their clever hiding place so she had her hands free to touch his chest.

She held onto the lapels of the flannel shirt he'd put on and touched her forehead to his chest, chewing on her lip. She didn't know what exactly she'd been expecting, but it wasn't this. Jethro really wouldn't ever cease to amaze her.

"Hey," she said leaning back and looking up at him. She crinkled her nose with a smirk. "You get a present, too," she informed him matter-of-factly, holding one finger up to indicate he should stay put.

She was still wearing the coat as she made her way swiftly down the stairs to her purse, where she'd been keeping the knife she'd bought Jethro in that shop. She pulled out the rather heavy black box and went back up the stairs, her hand skating lightly on the banister.

She smiled at him a little shyly when she re-entered the room, holding out the smooth black case for him. Jethro took it, lifting the magnetic top and looking at the switchblade inside. His eyebrows went up a little as he picked it up, his thumb running over the silver trim around the edges reverently. His fingertip grazed the engraving of his initial 'J', exploring, and he whistled quietly.

"Damn, Jen."

"That mean you approve?" she asked.

Jethro flicked the blade from its handle and held up the knife, looking at it intently. She smirked as he squinted a little, catching sight of the embedded words embossed on the actual blade of the knife: _Rule #9_.

He smirked, holding the switchblade in his palm.

"I'm just glad it's not a tie," he quipped, muttering through his grin.

Jenny punched his shoulder lightly.

"Gentlemen say _thank_ _you_, Jethro," she informed him saucily.

He snorted, scoffing at the insinuation. Jenny slipped off her new coat, the room a little too warm for it, as she watched Jethro study his knife, memorizing the feel of it. She held the leather coat in her hands, smiling at it. He tapped it with the blade of the knife.

"You won't be cold anymore," he said gruffly.

She beamed at him.

"I guess I won't need to snuggle up to you anymore," she sighed dramatically, shaking her head.

Jethro narrowed his eyes and set his switchblade carefully in its box, placing it on the desk next to the bed. She smirked and took a step back; Jethro caught her arm and pulled her closer, taking the coat away from her.

He gave it a threatening look.

Jenny laughed and pressed her palm against his heart.

"Don't be jealous of the coat, Jethro," she murmured, sidling closer to him, "It won't ever keep me as warm as you do," she murmured.

"Good girl," he muttered darkly, kissing her forehead.

Jenny turned her face up for a kiss and he obliged her, gently tossing the coat onto the bed behind her.

"It's a damn nice blade, Jen," he complimented sincerely.

"I'm glad you think so," she said seriously, "because if you didn't like it I was going to stab you."

He laughed gruffly. Jenny played with the buttons on his flannel shirt.

"Breakfast?" he asked, watching her hands.

She looked up, arching an eyebrow. He nodded, answering the unasked question. Jenny smiled brightly and nodded, letting her hands slip from his shirt as she went with him towards the stairs. She noticed as they made their way through the open house to the kitchen that the windows were all open and the air was fresh.

It was an odd contrast to snowy, chilly Christmas in Washington, DC. The sun was out, and it was surprisingly warm, judging by the breeze filtering in from the windows Jethro had opened. She fell in love with the sunny Christmas, and was only minutely put off that she wouldn't be able to wear her new coat just yet.

The kitchen smelled like bacon and French toast, and her eyes lit up at the sight of the food on the stove.

"Jethro," she started, swiping a piece of the crisp bacon from the skillet and leaping away from him when he tried to take it back with a glare, "I want to find out which wife succeeded in cultivating this fascinatingly domestic side of you and send her a thank-you card," she smiled and he returned his own small smile as he handed her a plate.

It didn't quite touch his eyes, and he ignored the statement for the most part. She was beginning to realize he didn't respond well when she mentioned his wives. She took her food, gratefully took the coffee he'd made from him, and stood at the counter to eat it, munching as she looked out the window to the gravel path.

"It's so warm," she murmured, taking a sip of her coffee.

Jethro grumbled something in response and turned off the oven, glancing out the window. He came up behind her and pulled his fingers through her hair, resting his chin on her shoulder while he slowly tangled his fingers in and out of it.

She glanced at him, smiling wickedly.

"We could go to the beach," she suggested, suddenly remembering the bathing suit she'd purchased. It wasn't sweltering, and the ocean was sure to be freezing, but she could bear it. She couldn't visit Italy, stay on the beach front, and not go to the beach.

It was sacrilege.

Jethro grunted.

"No suit," he mumbled, and kissed her neck.

Jenny smiled, taking another benign sip of her coffee. It tasted like Jethro had put peppermint in it. Something sweet.

"Wear your jeans," she said with a shrug. She felt him grimace at the thought of water-soaked denim and bit her lip, holding back another smile. "It will be fun," she coaxed lightly; "I bought a suit."

"Hmmm," he murmured, sounding a little interested. "Two part thing?" he asked gruffly.

"Oh, I don't remember," she said airily.

He growled at her and she shied away, his breath tickling her neck lightly. She smirked when he pulled her back insistently.

"Tease," he accused petulantly.

"You _might_ see it if we go to the beach…" she bribed. She had her heart set on the sun and sand now.

"Deal," he said immediately. She smiled into her coffee cup. _Oh, Jethro, so malleable._ He rested his chin on her shoulder again and reached around her to pick through her food, finding the best piece of bacon and stealing it.

She elbowed him in the ribs and he pushed her back, knocking her hand away from his side gently. She muttered an apology and he rolled his eyes. Jenny leaned back against him comfortably and enjoyed the sunny midmorning in silence.

Jenny passed a few of the day's duller hours on the floor next to the Christmas tree, her back leant against the couch, files and papers detailing their objectives in Russia and Decker's current exploits spread out in front of her. Jethro lay on the couch behind her, eyes closed, contributing information, discussing logistics.

They'd done enough slacking off to realize that, at some point, they needed to know their mission. Jenny knew that, when Decker's Agent Callan was finished with his assignment in Chechnya, she and Jethro were headed to Russia. The cover information she'd been given was intricate, and everything they'd be wrapped up in was clearly dangerous.

But it was exactly where she wanted to be. Smack dab in the midst of the world's arms dealers. She smiled to herself as she read the files, talking in short conversations to Jethro about tactics and the like, mapping out other things in her head.

Jethro would probably knock her head against a wall if he knew the dangerous ideas she was toying with.

* * *

The early evening Positano beach was lit in a fiercely orange-yellow glow, cast in lazy light by the setting sun. It had grown steadily hotter all day, abnormally warm for December in Italy, and then cooled off a little a bit before she'd finally gotten to the beach.

She was currently trying to navigate the treacherous terrain of the sandy beach, avoiding holes and caverns made in the sand, because Jethro was chasing her down the beach. She couldn't quite remember why right now, except she needed to _not_ let him catch her.

"JEN!" he barked loudly, closer than she'd thought, and she screamed, narrowly avoiding stumbling into a half-destroyed sand castle.

She scrambled to run faster and pushed the brim of the hat she was wearing up a little—oh, right. She stole his hat, that's why he was chasing her.

He'd worn a Steeler's hat, and refused to take it off when she ordered him to respect the Redskins in her presence. So she stole it, and he was pissed. He claimed it was his favorite hat. It was old, there was a hole in it, and the brim was frayed. Secretly, she thought he looked damn good in it.

But she was a 'skins fan.

"Dammit!" she heard him curse, and giggled, glancing behind her.

This turned out to be a bad idea.

She wasn't prepared for the sudden dip the sand took and lost her footing in the loose grains, squealing in surprise as she tried to stop herself from falling. Jethro pounced forward, grabbed her around the waist, and prevented her from hitting the ground, growling in her ear.

"I'm going to kill you," he threatened, swinging her away from the hole while she kicked her legs in a desperate attempt to get away. His hand grazed her ribs and she dissolved into giggles, cursing him for knowing that her weakness was being tickled.

"How can you like the Steelers?" she shouted, gasping for breath. She managed to escape for a split second before he grabbed her back. "The Steelers _suck_!"

"I'm _from_ Pennsylvania, Jen!" he shouted trying to snatch the hat off of her head. She smacked his hand hard, preventing his victory.

"They still suck!" she informed him, wriggling so he loosened his arms and she ducked away, backing up with her arms out. He glared and started towards her, looking decidedly frightening.

"Since when are you a football kinda girl?" he snapped irately.

"Since you like the Steelers!" she retorted smartly, running a little backwards. He jumped at her and she shrieked, ducking down even thought it was futile. He tumbled down to the sand with her and she squeezed her eyes shut, reaching up to clamp the hat down on her head so he still wouldn't have access to it.

She'd been raised to love the Redskins. She couldn't just sacrifice that because Jethro liked the Steelers—though she was slightly interested to learn he was from Pennsylvania.

"Give me my hat!"

Jenny yelped loudly, feigning hurt.

"_Ouch_! Jethro, you're _hurting_ me!" she cried, widening her eyes and putting on one hell of a wounded face.

He stopped harassing her immediately and sat back, looking apologetic and concerned.

"What did I do? Jen?" he asked rapidly, and she smirked, jumping up.

"Sucker!" she mocked triumphantly, dashing away again. Jethro cursed violently and came after her. "That's what you get for being a chauvinist," she teased over her shoulder, headed straight for the ocean.

She hadn't been in yet; she'd avoided Jethro's attempt to push her in by kissing him and then underhandedly pushing him into it, so his jeans were soaked up to his knees. She was still comfortably warm and dry.

She paused at the edge of the crashing waves and smirked, bracing herself for the cold she was going to feel.

"Jenny!" he roared threateningly, and she ran into the water, gasping at how icy it was, shivering, and cursing under her breath. A few waves crashed against her knees and splashed up against her chest and shoulders, drawing a squeal from her.

Intrepidly, she carried on, intent on making Jethro come get her.

She turned around when she was waist deep, shivering slightly, to taunt him, when she realized what exactly her mistake had been.

Jethro wasn't; as hindered by the cold as she. That, and she seemed to have forgotten the little detail that he was a marine. He was barely five feet behind her when she stopped, and she just bit her lips, slapped her hands over her head to protect the hat, and braced her shoulders, opening one of her closed eyes to watch him claim victory.

She let out a scream as a wave hit her in the back, splashing water all over her head and shoulders, effectively soaking her hat and bathing suit. Her only comfort was that it hit Jethro too; leaving him scowling and looking like a disgruntled, wet dog.

"You will not get away with this, woman," he growled, glaring at her.

She pulled her hands slowly from the hat and giggled, arching an eyebrow. Her eyes stung a little from the salt water, and she knew her make-up was probably running a bit.

"Oh I won't, huh?" she provoked.

He shook his head slowly and, before she was ready for it, grabbed her arm roughly and pulled it behind her back like he was arresting her, dragging her towards him in the dense water and locking his other arm around her shoulders tightly.

She struggled, the breath knocked out of her from his maneuver, and finally relaxed against him, hanging her head in mock defeat, and laughing.

"Give?" he growled in her ear.

"Fine," she relented, adding in a petulant mutter, "Bastard."

She felt his grip start to loosen and squirmed to get away when he suddenly yanked her back.

"Hold your breath," he muttered.

Startled, she glanced up and closed her mouth, following his instructions. She ducked her head as the wave he'd seen coming before her crashed over their heads, much bigger than the previous ones had been. The under tow snatched her feet from under her and she felt Jethro's hat come off her head.

She came up spluttering and laughing harder than she had in a long time, trying to breathe, and blinking her eyes in an effort to see. She reached out blindly, groping, until her hands found Jethro's shoulders and she grabbed onto him, opening her eyes to find him on his knees. They were a little further out now.

Her hair plastered to her face, she reached up and shook it back, catching sight of his hat out of the corner of her eye.

"Jethro!" she cried, pointing to it. She dived towards it, not wanting it to become lost at sea, and he grabbed her foot to prevent her from getting it, causing her to turn onto her back and kick at him feebly before she went under.

He snatched the hat and held it up triumphantly as he found his footing, and Jenny grabbed his waist to hoist herself back up, glaring in admitted defeat. He wrung out the hat and tucked it tightly into his back jeans pocket, smirking arrogantly.

She wrapped her arms loosely around his middle and he reached down, caressing her shoulder, one arm of his draped over her other shoulder to toy with the strings of her red bikini.

"Cold, Jen?" he asked mockingly.

Jenny rolled her eyes, giving him a sharp look.

"Thanks for noticing," she said sarcastically, directing his attention from her chest to her eyes.

"My pleasure," he murmured, pushing his thumb into her neck to coax her head up for a kiss.

She pressed her mouth to his and tightened her grip on him so the pushy waves wouldn't drag her into the sea again.

"Mmm," she murmured, pressing her forehead into his and grinning teasingly, "Ocean reminds me of that time you got arrested."

He glared at the top of her head.

"The time you _let_ me get arrested?" he clarified.

She shrugged airily.

"Eh, you deserved it."

"How does this—"

"And I had to commandeer that sailboat just to bust your sorry ass out of the clink," she remembered, smiling proudly. He glared at her and grumbled under his breath a little.

"It wasn't a very nice boat," he insulted under his breath.

"And you would know this…?" she asked, lifting an eyebrow.

He looked at her in disbelief, almost outrage.

"I know a _little_ about boats, _Jen_," he retorted sarcastically.

"Don't insult my little boat," she told him, poking his chest firmly, "it was cute. It ferried us safely to England."

"I ferried us safely to England," he corrected rudely.

Jenny waved her hand at him.

"You're still bitter that I left you in jail," she informed him, and was met with a baleful look. She glanced up at him through taunting eyelashes. "You were impressed I stole that boat," she stated confidently.

He didn't answer, but she knew he was, even if he'd never admit it.

"You better hope yours is bolted down," she threatened seriously, formulating plans to sabotage his basement boat building.

"Jen, if you go near my boat…" he warned dangerously.

She looked up at him innocently, her lashes fluttering, and grabbed onto his arms tightly when a few waves hit them consecutively. They were starting to build bigger again, and she wasn't too eager to be taken out by another huge one. Jethro smirked and caught her around the waist, making sure she didn't lose her footing.

Jenny shivered in the sudden breeze that blew up and looked towards the beach, where articles of their clothing were laying in a pile some ways off. It was starting to get dark, and it was probably a smart idea to get out of the water and back to the sand.

The waves became a little stronger and crashed more insistently as she and Jethro made their way back to shore, getting considerably more wet in the process due not only to the waves but splashing each other. Jenny succeeded in ducking Jethro's head under water when he wasn't paying attention, and she was still laughing about it when she splashed through the shallow water up to shore with him on her heels.

She stumbled to their pile of belongings and collapsed in the sand, managing to land half on the towels they'd brought out with them. Jethro flopped down next to her on his stomach, while she glanced at him from her back, catching her breath slowly. She closed her eyes and rested a minute, crooking her arm behind her head as a pillow and turning her face towards him. He propped his head up on his palm and drew his fingers lazily from her cleavage in the bikini to the top of its bottoms, his hair dripping seawater down his face.

She looked up at the stars that started to sprinkle out over the quickly darkening sky and sighed, pursing her lips.

"Russia doesn't seem so appealing," she muttered, frowning a little. She didn't want to leave the beach for the freezing temperatures and icy snows of Russia.

He shrugged.

"Pretend it's London," he suggested, "That's where we're stationed," he snorted. She smirked, having forgotten that, technically, they were listed as agents abroad at the London headquarters.

"Oh, London wouldn't be pleasant in winter either," she refuted, reaching out to run her palm over his chest lazily. He caught her hand and rubbed his thumb over her knuckles, his gaze travelling over her from head to toe.

"Don't ever wear this suit in public again," he ordered sternly, leaning forward to kiss her shoulder.

She smiled and laced her fingers into his hair, pulling his head away from her body.

"I thought you liked it," she gloated.

"Humph," he huffed, holding up her other hand to kiss her wrist.

She smiled and laid her head back against the sand, her grip loosening in his hair so he could press his kisses to her neck and shoulder again. She thought about the day languidly, grateful to him for making it as good as it was. It had been a good day. Positano had been good for them.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked huskily, his lips grazing the edge of her bikini top.

She tilted her head back into the sand a little.

"Rule fifty-one," she murmured softly.

Jethro shifted and snaked one of his legs over both of hers, pulling her close to him. He pressed a kiss to her jaw and nuzzled his cheek against hers. Jenny smirked and casually slung one arm around his neck, angling her lips towards his ear.

"You've got your stamina back," she said in a low voice. She'd noticed he'd barely lost his breath chasing her around the beach all afternoon. She clicked her tongue teasingly. "I'm sure you missed being on top, didn't you, Jethro?"

"Learned to pace yourself yet, Jen?" he growled in retaliation, his hand sliding down to her thigh.

"That's for me to know, and you to find out."

He smirked.

Jenny giggled as he captured her mouth in a kiss, winding a leg around his seductively. It was dark; no one would see. The beach was essentially deserted—and she might not have another chance to make love on a beach.

Jenny pulled him closer to her firmly, seeking his warmth.

Even with the cold of Russia looming, the New Year looked promising.

* * *

_Thank you to everyone who has reviewed&read faithfully throughout the story--stick around! Russian Twilight pops up soon! _

_-Alexandra_


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